fingerprints in the wind
words pour out of my fingertips
words pour out of my fingertips painting morning into the garden, doves floating, their warm feathered grace filling the cups of my eyes, overflowing, colors spill through the windows melting my reflection, the grey cat dreams, I can feel his heartbeat… a mirage of empty fades into bottomless echoes, oscillating into reflections of moon floating on endless oceans…
my heart was sucked out by the tides, I was drowned, …dissolved in waves of moon songs, not even my nakedness was left… and I find my self spilling into these songs that dance me on to empty beaches as I wait for your heartbeat to find mine, so we can float, together, in this sensuous ballet of lost and found moon
~~~~~
is the poem in the flower or is the flower in the poem?
petaled softness unfurls your heart into a song of elegant tendrils stretching into sky, …hidden thorns pierce and rip your skin into prayers echoing in dusty temples crumbling under the weight of sky, falling,
…the heaviness and lightness of joy and sorrow, and love, a deep underlying roar that consumed you long ago when you were waiting to hear the next song…
~~~~~
hanging on the edge of words, …doves hover, …morning calls…
you back to the liquid dreamscape of scintillating…
the heartbeat of existence lies in in the oscillations of this and that, yet there is no this or that, or both or neither, as there is no unchanging thing, or things to change, …so do you exist without an imaginary back drop of time and space, and can you find time, or space, or their absence? who would find or lose your place in the passion play? what would be a book mark, a kiss, …love, love lost?
what falls out of the book when your tears saturate the cover, as the title slides into infinite wetness, and the pages dissolve into words into sounds into this very poem your eyes seem to scan and hungrily or lazily drink the words that pour through these fingers this heart that is looking to taste your heartbeat, this perfect sound this resonance this love… is it your heart beat or mine?
who would recognize the flavor of love
but love itself?
~~~~~
every word is a rush of memory,
unique to everyone
tree, love, rainbows, tomorrows...
wind soars, and it is my wind
love weeps, and it is my eyes weeping
tree tops beginning to bloom
delicate wings of sky lace
I reach out to you to fill our eyes
with unfathomable beauty
lost and found in the details
fingerprints in the wind
Happy I found you♥️♥️