Touch

Encased in ice built of arrangement,
blocked from feelings by our lot
in rigid establishment,
we bother
a moment to cast a gaze
outside our social prisons,
to ponder the impossible...
a chance to meet.

Imagining the warmth
for only a second of human time
creates an inner flow,
bonding our tides,
our consciousness, in hot, serpentine
penetration.

Shall I regret that you have stretched,
have reached
with the sword of your eyes
and their deep, moonloving shine,
into the hidden pocket of my soul?

As our prison melts
at will
and pain brings life again,
I wish only
to sit on your sword
and be free,
dripping bloody ecstasy,
creating worlds of heat
and flowing endlessly
into the source