It seems that all semester I’ve been coming face-to-face with the demons who have devoured my soul… one by one… just like the dancing girls who come in from stage-left across the front, kicking in unison to some banal band music.
The following is a result of one such bugger-of-a-member of my own personal chorus line.
Sometimes I yearn.
I don’t know what wakes it,
this simple, subtle creature,
but once it emerges from its den of sleep
all I long for is relief
from its insatiability.
My thinking stops
my heart beats, suspended in mock openness, readiness
and every cell of my body seeks to be overcome.
A wide-open mouth to a breast
Eyes expecting loving gazing
Upon that which will grant its own fruition…
Like a docking procedure.
Not desire… nor want, need, wish or covet
Those are not a body’s words
But a mind’s decision to possess a thing
Rather a body’s movement towards
That which it knows not
it can lock its sights on.
Is it instinct…
this body’s language
that the mind cannot grasp?
Sometimes I want to know why this body yearns
because I want to stop its pain.
The yearning starts and I follow
down this path of trying to find
a something which it seeks
but I never do.
There is only this gaping hole,
that never gets fed.
If I could just crawl into the arms of the Lover and be the Beloved,
If I could just feel his Breath fill my lungs and be the Word he speaks,
If I could just suffer his pulsing life into my own and know sweet liberation in that moment of union,
I would never have to dine again.