Rachelle

This summer sun that burns me so
is dimmed by your mischievous smile.
And though its bright and all aglow
there may as well be rain.
For when you are not near the world is cold
And my heart feels a longing pain.

I think of you as I gather souvenires,The scent of the pachtouli you wear on your skin, your bar of soap, and your shirt you left behind.
all these things have been touched by the warmth of all that is you
In your hair I smell my shampoo.
the turning pages as i drift off to sleep feeling you near
even when you arise at dusk and sit at the foot of my bed
It's like being in a chamber so close to love that embodies your soulful cough and the taste of water that you draw to your lips, or like the smoke that you inhale in.
When you leave it is like a long exhale and my body aches to breathe you in again and feel your hand clasped in mine.
Glory be to all that expanse of space and time that could not keep me forever cut off from your embrace or to see the lines etched upon your face. The lines that tell stories that I was not a part. Lines that draw a map to all the places I see. All the places when I was without you but yet I was always with thee.

...........

My son and I were out the door today quick as a lick. As I let my maryjane shows clatter down the tile steps we shut the geometrical door behind us and walked under the lantern light that set tracers in the rain gutters. A line of quail twittered past us in a wavy line. The tops of thier heads like old roman helmets. My son's cowlick saluting in unison. We drove the slush covered roads to Sunday Service. When parked the sliding van door slid on it's track like a jet on a runway. My son leapt out sidestepping a puddle that left droplets of rain on my nylon stockings. No time to waste. We heaved the heavy glass door open and embarked on our journey through the painted cinder block halls. The commercial carpet at our feet. One could almost smell the bland taste of the bread, hear the stacking of the white dainty sacrament cups. The hymnals were placed in unified order on cold metal chairs, and the carpeted benches still smelled like they had been upholstered yesterday. As my son and I walked hand in hand to gain our seats by the accordian room divider. I felt one small dainty sacrament cup be pushed into my hand. As i looked down at the floor. I saw the quails from earlier twittering across the floor. I than caught a draft as the cloth of the robed figure beside me brushed the side of my cheek. That is when I heard the pipes of the organ that were much to grand for this small chapel. I looked into my sacrament cup and realized this was no ordinary day at church.

My cup runneth over like mugs of beer

There is mysticism in your clothes
legends are in your prose
you remind me of sea salt from an ocean forray
Journeys of Hobbits, swords engaged
I hear the sound of flutes when you are near
my cup runneth over like mugs of beer
I see flames from torches marching on your behalf
flags unfurl whenever I hear you laugh
I think of black, I think of green, pachtouli, tobacco, and pages unwritten but seen
You are like stone hedge a sacred circle upon the earth
The trees are part of our rebirth
The birds stand at attention, the butterflies greet us
the canvas is set for all that is between us
The colors more vived. the place where I hold dear
is right in your arms with you holding me near
You are sketched upon my hearth
wrapped around my soul like a winter scarf
That is my Thank you to you. Not my best but I thought you could use a little flattery too. xoxoxo

R.

I

8-26-10 II

the darkest veil shrouds the sky
a canopy of glitter envelopes you and I
milky white puffs of smoke captivate as we stumble to hang on
embracing a moment until it is gone
watching the road for you to wander in
just so i can walk the path to hold you again
the pines of blue set off the hue of solomons palace on fire
a magical land like that of the shire......

R.

8-26-10

the senselessness of half a dozen paces
the holding cell of sacred places
footsteps placed as dipped in flour
cathedrals soiled by the hour
bells toll at random again and again
the lion calls within the den
volcanic fire sputters over ice
ash spewn forth like a spice
crystals glisten within sealed caverns
wine touches lips within sought taverns
salvation comes within a wooden cart
imprinting designs upon canvas as we depart


R.