hot tub dance

it was

a torrid tango,

intimate touches

in shimmering heat

and cold blue air.

it was

a racing blood

fandango,

a simmering

amniotic rendezvous.

it was

a sizzling cauldron of

salty wet desire,

a full moon

roiling ocean rumba.

it was all

raw lips and basted thighs,

tangled flesh falling apart,

restless limbs losing ground

immersed and drowning.

it was lines forgotten,

identities scrambled

naked, masked, revealed,

dissolved, fragmented,

whole and healed.

and it was hide and seek

and blind man’s bluff

and catch me if you can

with a stiff oar in a feral sea

dipping and thrusting

through oscillating fluids

in a wavering boat

floating, flooding, rising

bodies liquifying,

spurting like whales.

it was a forming and melting,

a mute transfiguration

lost in translation and found

again under sultry layering

of transmogrified faces.

it was always in flux

through shifting perspectives

of steam where nothing was ever

what it seemed

in the hot tub dance.

drawing and poem by clinock

All credits and an admiring thank you to Steven @  http://poemimage.wordpress.com for the idea and inspiration for the design of this post. You are the Master my friend…

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window interlude – siesta a Roma

shadows on the blind

prosecco intimacies

in afternoon heat

haiku and photo by clinock

light (memoria italiana)

“We’re in Italy,” you said,

“together”

and laughing you fed me oranges,

purple wine, cannoli and kisses

as Mediterranean light

danced through the window

and Italian voices rose

echoing

from the street below.

The beauty of your words

released me

from my traveling trance,

illuminating and

washing me in wonder,

amazed by the simple beauty

of being alive,

there, with you

in that blue and yellow day.

It poured through us,

that shining moment,

an ocean of ecstasy and liquid gold

and we helplessly surrendered

to its luminous tide

drowning willingly

in the deeps of colour,

the smells of olives, fish and sea

and the sound of distant singing.

Chair, roof tiles, window glass,

an arched Italian sky, your mirrored face

and the bright calling of bells

reflected radiance everywhere

dazzling and dissolving

behind closed eyes

as we inhaled each others breath

and exhaled the sun,

igniting southern stars.

 

poem and photo by clinock

light (angel)

Doors opened in light.

Light arrowed

to winged promises

of flight.

Floating.

Falling.

Rising.

By this illusion of paint

and light

beacons are ignited.

Old desires,

not yet too rained upon

to catch a spark,

burn, fierce flaming

for my remembered

fallen angel.

They are not all

as they appear to be,

the angelic ones.

Some wear paper wings

easily dissolved by tears and time

or ashed by fires of passion.

Some wear cardboard halos,

pinned carelessly to fragrant hair,

creased and crushed by kisses.

She was not at all

as she appeared to be,

my angel.

Her moonlit votive

melted in the sun

blistering the heart

with burning tongues of wax.

Her skin absolved mine

with scents of white lilies.

Her fingertips traced

ecstatic ascensions to heaven.

Her miraculous eyes,

a mirage of turquoise lakes

in an empty desert,

blinded all seeing

like god at high noon.

Photo and poem by clinock.