Solstice (by chukchi1)

This is from my old archive of email -- written by a stranger I no longer know:


Solstice

Now the balled fist of my heart
is open,
its fingers wide
against you, its scarred palm sucking
your light through
my veins where it roars
bright rivers in the melt off.

If dreams are the table
of the soul you are my night
meal.

Sharp bones of my spine press
to aching against the steel
door frame as I wait
for your scent
beneath mistletoe.

I want the new year
to be an arc; the curve
of my cheek, the curve
of your cheek, the curl
of our hands, your breasts,
your breath escaping
in floating spheres
of voice, the physics of bodies
at motion
at rest.

And when you go,
and you do go,
I endure not
breach but expansion.

- chukchi1, copyright 2000