There are moments
when making love
when a door
to something else
opens.
I am never prepared.
There is no preparation
for the way it takes me
and leaves me.
Sometimes it is brought
by a movement of tenderness:
soft lips that brush my forehead
and murmur my name
as the fire burns through
me making
my hips rise
and my blood moan.
Sometimes it is brought
by a moment of great courage:
eyes that dare to meet
and hold mine as the flood
of silky amber honey
takes us both over the edge.
And sometimes
it is brought
by the sting of what is not
and the memory of
tenderness and courage
that has been.
And when that moment
catches me
and tosses me
I am helpless.
The words spill
unbidden
into the night:
"I want ... I want ... I want..."
Unfinished
they leave me
dangling
suspended
over the chasm
of my own
bottomless desire.
Reaching
aching
grasping
for that
fleeting something
I glimpsed
or imagined
just beyond.
Gone
before
I could name it.
The breath catches
a strangled sob
tears me
opens me
and I fall back
eyes wide and
dazed
on damp pillows
my face
wet with tears.
And his eyes
stare
bewildered,
frightened
by the fierceness
of my longing.
Oriah Mountain Dreamer © 1995
