The Second Night of the Poem
of the Body

 

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">He comes to her when she is asleep and
slips into her dream. A garden is growing; she moves strange stones
with her bare hands. He touches the back of her neck. He feels her eyes
watch him though her face is bowed. Her body moves so lithe and still
she seems a statue, the flowers rippling under her hands. He wakes her
gently, feels the girl's voice breathe in her throat, tastes the
sweetness of her breath, her eyes opening again to his. For a time he
lies lightly beside her, making a solid place for him, her body curled
against him in a dusk light pure gold, pure red, so dim it suffuses
them like blood.

 

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">He wonders how far she has wandered,
where she goes on her path, walking on the world's dirt ground and
pavement. He cups her in his hands like a butterfly, gold and black and
green, her forest wings beating softly against his skin. His body wants
to speak to her, to have her kneel, to open her, to hear her silence
and the gasp of her breath against his hand, but he restrains himself,
sits quietly beside her, watching her wake, watching her smile?until
his hand stroking her shoulders, her hair, her face, feels the heat of
her rise against him and his own heat answer. He wants to watch her as
she opens and lets desire take her?and he does. As she climbs the path
slowly he hears her breath, the labor of the climb, the steepness of
the path, the night surrounding them both like wings, and though he
would touch her, bring his mouth down to her skin, this is not the
moment. When she cries out at last, her moan savage and gutteral, he
holds it, his hands firm about her body, the sound entering his skin
like the sweetest stroke, like a blow.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">He feeds her first,
then bathes her, watching her move naked through the rooms in a grey
damp light, and feels her soul restless, angry, pacing, as he sits very
still and listens. He knows that he is the earth she walks on, the
water she will swim in, the container for the fire and light she
brings, the trees that the wind of her being streams across. His desire
for her has no end, no bottom to it, it is a cavern in the sea so deep
that no light penetrates at the end, &;amp; strange creatures dwell
there, strange and luminous in their own dark light. But it begins with
his hand against her hand as they speak of the paths they may walk,
together or apart, in that time, or this time, where they have been and
where they are going, and he hears in her voice how his presence may
soothe her, and his own restlessness and his power watch and wait
quietly in the grey light of the rain that falls outside her
windows?

 

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">Later they lie together once more,
easier now, and his spirit caresses her skin, and he makes love to her
gently, so gently that when she cries out for him this second time it
startles him, nearly-the tiger growling in her throat as she bucks
against his hand, wanton angel in the stark daylight, and the dawn
light surrounding him like a nimbus, carrying him far into his own
desire, letting her touch him there.

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class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">They lie together for
a time, and then he sleeps, and when he wakes again she is gone, and
rain is falling, and all of her presence surges for him, washes over
him, takes his heart and his loins with such sweet hot power that he
cries out and howls for her, speaking her name aloud into the wash of
grey light, saying it again, and then again, and then a third time,
knowing that she hears him, knowing her eyes see.

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0pt"> 

style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt">This is the second night of the poem of
the body.