~ Creative Interludes ~              

The Art of Love

 My name above names is "Love Yearns."

"Crying Out" is an inner voice,

reaching out for sensuous love.

"Starved for Touch" is the beast within,

the animation of that voice,

hungry of limb for accepting flesh to caress.

Free-form throb of beating heart,

how thunderous its utterance.

Come my lovely, snuggle in close,

breast to breast surrendered,

pulse within pulse enfolded,

by love's corporeal emotions.

To touch is a lover's art,

and the art of love is a spiritual thing.

I Must Take You

I must take you to that place. Slowly shall we go. Up that high mountain, to that peak of passionate embrace before the clouds thunder and release the rains and make the journey treacherous. You must breath that rarified air that causes the lungs to expand in desperation of more until they adjust to the purer ethers. That place far above where you give up the goal and the seeking and just surrender to floating above the earth. That place where the heart becomes most raw and vulnerable, exposed to cupids arrows. That place where a single touch reverberates through your soul and body like a tremor through the earth. Then my beloved will you understand the splendor of chaste embraces. Here may we build our oratory, a house of prayer, and sing from fullness of bosom and belly a song though every nerve and cell. Eternity awaits our orison, ready to enfold us in the wings of angels.

The Friend

That Friend who gave the very Grail to my lips
and made me drunk with eternities bliss.
That Friend resides within the core of hearts.
That Friend by many names is G-d,
the very throne and crown of Life.
Yet, of all the beautiful names of Adonai,
I cherish especially this single one;
El Shaddai ... "the breasted one."
For Beneath Her blessed wing like robes
I find fulfilled my knightly quest.
My lady's mercy is a true abode and rest.
No more can I discern between earth and sky
As these days of sacred madness unfold
A honey filled fountain is my only desire,
So sweet the wine from lips of grace.
And each sigh a tear in the fabric of time
through which I free my soul, Oh yes,
Sigh O' surrendered, wine enamored heart,
for sake of love, awakened kiss by kiss.
How false a God that would not espouse
the faultless essence of our joyful longing,
or be not present in a single flowers bloom.