There are lines
that cross -
intersecting passions
-
meetings
of ghost and
dream and
longing.
Like, when you call me “baby” -
and everything in me
responds -
as if I am the one,
the only,
ever.
But all the while
I am dancing
among the
many that came
before.
We dance
together
at the refiner’s
fire;
gifts of
past-love/old-love/lost-love
leap and prance
among the flames -
sacred offerings
holding space
upon the altar
of our new-found love.
I wonder -
what woman
has shaped you, dreamed
you, nurtured and
fed you, even in
spite of yourself?
I long to
dance inside
her skin,
to know her
belly and her
breasts, the scent
between her thighs,
the way she called out
when you were inside her –
as if this knowing
will seal our
fate: yours and mine.
Back and forth,
we dance.
Around and
around
the fire that
transforms
burns,
heals,
destroys.
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