June 5 by The Running Son
nine where coffee is brewing.
Times-zones find me,
blurry eyes adjusted and fine tuned.
Until we met I thought I was blind!
Now I’m sea-deep into you for all time.
Sections of my heart I knew
I’d find again
in fate’s own timely fashion–I’m out of my head
completely, trying to take you in.
I move at thoughts of embracing;
no such touch
could ever be a sin, save omitting
me facing you first,
from a distance
taking you in.
Your eyes catch me, mouth crescent.
Moons orbit; multiple lunar risings
arc by, marking you
mine. Marking you; a demand
coiling down my spine as I
take you in. I am spinning
down and back through time, each spiral
a life I’ve loved you in—always looped by you
but even in a million lives
I never left your side.
I mean, if you were by me now,
wow. Ok. It’s a labor
to find words to describe
how easy we could tease the sky.
I’d hostily invade dream committees
for the right, or eat from a One Tree,
or drag chalices–a missionary
blood-burden, seeking heavenly kisses,
or any Western Wall
that’ll tolerate my wailing,
plus a few eastern secret souvenirs missing.
But you are real,
Moon full and eyes true.
No cold pasts will keep my sun
from rising on you. No
of survival silent smiles,
and no time busy thank-yous
or blur-green miles passing me.
I will take you
around spirals of my arms aching,
mark you mine, and bandages
protecting broken heart spaces
will never again needing replacing.
Seven now, and somewhere, ten,
in the no-tin-man marked
and protected compartment
That I keep warm, for you,
and will soon
take you in.
by Jim Aldrich
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.