I await liquid kisses that fall
crimson on snow,
milk that squirts
through eyes into mouths,
the wet clay that slides
laughing into the open throat of day.
Where do these words come from?
I sense something deeper
written in them,
something older than the first flame
of a broken humanity’s longing to leap
through the twisted energies
and re-emerge half-hidden in kisses,
soaked in respect and awakened in awe.
Perhaps it is only Life’s artists
that seek such indefinable alchemy…
or the poet mystic
writing the slightest slip of breath
in the rising of a breast
or a breeze.
Perhaps it is elusive simply
because it is so beautiful,
freely romping on the far side
of the spinning sword of fire
where Life plays like a child
in the melodious
whimsy of wind.
All poems © Blake Steele
