I.

it is in distance i come
very close to her,
the guilt more real
and unforgiving —
a moment quivering
with so much nearness.
her breath hot on my face,
scent caressing my lips,
the magic of the reach
between us haunts this hour
when sins are too holy
for their meanings,
too pure for the dark.
she is a miracle, a vocabulary
born of the wind.

II.

it’s already night,
the tired body wanting
to feel the dreams on the bed,
the arms longing to embrace
the language of pillows.
but, here i am with pen in one hand
and paper in the other
with thoughts of the muse
flowing from the liquid wind.

she was there beside me,
skin to skin, separated only
by the games of names.
our silence was melody
still playing, searching
for the lyrics.

but, i can only fill
the page with distances
toward the next music,
toward a landmark planted
with another song.

III.

have you seen her? she was here a while ago, connecting the telling universe
to the page, some love electric, the planets, suns and stars
revolving, gliding in a quickened sleep into the dream on paper.
the tongued storm with voice of all eyes, with the rhythm of entire
petal force empirely spinning in one gentle touch. and touch
of hair is flowing ocean to the depths of its engulfing mystery, the waves
connecting shores, glowing darkly with the moon on her flowering
wingertips, dancing at the heart of the hurricane; while the unicorn
swiftly to the target of its rare eyes — all blooming
universes a giant rose opening its palms to the God
of the atom and to the Lord of the shading suns. there
into the sex of the night the cities wood the gentle kiss.
love of all love is a woman mystery, who accompanies
one sip of coffee with her Genesis smile, simply the heart
is pure to love, too pure to sin, too, such pureness
here touching the face, till summer storm wipes
tears from the skies. have i told you before there is so much
to tell in the wide-eyed loneliness of her arrival?
i shall meet her, oh i shall meet her and whistle
a happy tune, lovely melody of our oneness. why oh why
you should ask. i shall tell you about the lingering
scent, the traces of her perfume on my skin, and my eyes —
there she is, the dream imprinted in my eyes, oh and to touch
her is like strumming the bent night for melodious wind. and you
say I’m clever, clever for loving her, loving her.

have you not seen her? what of miracle and song when
she walks, the road palms of winged angels,
deeply thirsting as every fleeting step performs heavenly music.
i sing about her. my soul sings about her.

IV.

she feels good about herself.
she’s all natural, all beautiful inside-out.
her smile plucks stars from orbit.
like a whisper, her eyes hourless but momentful
in her free-verse walk.

there’s her heart, ageless youth,
words gently, easy-speak in her eyes,
divine is her voice
kind is her skin to touch.

thoughts caressing in their free time,
surfing on the surge of life,
playing in the balance
when truth edges to wound
but fails because it simply
cannot be so true.

in her free-verse walk,
like a whisper, her eyes hourless but momentful.
her smile plucks stars from orbit.
she’s all natural, all beautiful inside-out,
she feels good about herself.

Copyright (C) 2008, Edwin M. Cordevilla