Thai Nights

I don't want to talk about war or the election
or race or religion.
I don't want to talk about oil or recession
or islam-nazi or cancer.
I want to talk about love, the love between two people
that cannot be shared with a third or anyone else.
I want to talk about extreme, forever love between two people,
this most dangerous expense of lives, that spends
all breath and all blood and all reason to live,
this only full expense of life that only two can share, once.
I don't want to talk about the smart-ass smirk on your face,
your rolling eyes, your hissed and hip comments.
I don't want to talk about what you know and what you think
and what you feel.
I only want to talk about love, the love between two people
that cannot be shared with a third,
what you do not know, what you cannot feel, except for
the extreme, forever fear of it.
And I will talk with you,
if you are patient with me,
and wait.

And she said to him...
I didn't need him. There was no time, no void or empty space in my life.
When my father held me and whispered to me in front of the fire I thought
of God... but he was outside and we were tightly enclosed... and
I didn't need him. And on the shore near the sea when you made
love to me I thought of God. But he was everywhere except inside
of me... and I didn't need him.
Oh, why was it you who came after, you and the dancer.
The dancer!

And he said to her...
I don't understand what she understands,
but I know her. I've seen her at night and at dawn and I've been afraid,
too afraid to be consumed by my own love for her. And we've talked
about all things until words and gestures are meaningless and
I had to sleep, but she didn't. I whispered come back and sleep with me, let the sunlight wake us, together.

And she said to him...
Not together. No sun will ever find us together. There is only the night
and my dancer. See see how he moves his body, his beautiful
rippling body... how his skin glistens, see the naked beauty? Where?
There... he dances to the song of the guitar... he is the song
of the guitar. And he wants me to dance with him....

On the first day in the first month, she wrote this to me...

Sing to me... singer of you and me
The night is ending.
In the dark warm shadows, whisper my name...
I cannot whisper yours... you are my name.
I am the outer chamber of your heart,
Pulsing as it pulses, quieting as it quiets.
The night is ending
Light streams from the rim of the sky and flashes along
the curve of your body... dark in front, thigh on fire
Touch it, the cat's fur of your skin...
The shape of you vibrates, shimmers
There is no need to sleep.
Sing to me.

On the sixth day in the first month, I wrote this to her...

The light is green beneath the sun
The grasses reflect and sway to your moving body
Every part of you is open... spread, unafraid.
I lick your naked skin until my tongue becomes
warm and numb
The heat of your blood bakes the moaning rising music
of your throat into a taste...
A cream taste of sweat and yeast and tender flesh.
Every part of you spreads, stretches to cover the horizon.
You are the planet of woman and I am your moon.

On the 11th day in the first month, I wrote this to her...

How many times can I kiss you?
How many places on your lips
can my tongue stop and taste
the salt sweet sap that rises...
Up from your garden roots...
Through the stem of your body...
Into the petals of the flower of your face?
Your face shines and moves...
Moist, the rain from my eyes is transparent,
Liquid glass, the faintest trace of silver.
It washes the delicate flower you press against me.
How many times can I kiss you?

On the fourth day of the second month, I wrote this to her...

You said to me
stand on the bridge between sleeping and awakening
the moment between twilight and night when one can remember what the eyes saw but can no longer see it...
when the outer world's light is gone and the other senses become bright.
Touch it, you said, in total darkness
and you will see all of the light inside.
And I said, that is the way, and it is a way to make love, that's what we should do.
And you laughed and said
yes, but first you must awaken the dream, you must touch it inside and let the light grow inside
then let it spread out
then we can do what we should do.

On the 10th day of the second month, she wrote this to me...

Tearing
Twisting
Tumbling
Rolling
Ripping
Riding
Searing
Seething
Spent
We are not dead
We are not awake
We are open.

On the fifth day in the third month, I wrote this to her...

Why have you left me?
Come back to me
Come back to me
I hear the touch of your voice
the faint touch of your breath on my neck
I am blind without your eyes
Come back to me.