Silver Laces

phishgod

Silver Laces

Four A.M.,
the naked
dark, your
breath on
my chest,
warm, purring,
lying in
your aura,
smoothing strands,
silky smiles,
silver laces,
we discuss
reading Plato,
how Delft
plates and
rose-hued
glazed pottery
or the
sheen Salzburg
crystal paints
patinas perfect
matched pairs
of Minds’
luminary lights,
blue-amber
streaks in
our eyes,
the scent
of our
sex, taste
of lips,
how Renoir’s
brush work
reflects by
moonlight of
our desire.

Holding you
near, bolstering
dawn’s dreams,
silver spoons
nesting, the
warm lacquered
enamel of
sharing tasks,
silver laces
and yesterday’s
rainbows, described.

We worship
this incredibly
clear closeness
which comes
of sharing
silver laces,
sunrises and
sunsets, of
two minds
moving together,
breathing deeply,
as One.

We share
little laughs,
honor little
victories, re-
joice each
other’s pleasures,
giggle like
a slumber
party, reveal
unknown nooks
and crannies,
hold tightly,
as close
best buds,
silver laces,
like twin
flowers, blooming.

Marveling we’ve
talked well
over five
straight hours,
the tight
twilight of
morning, clamps
vise-like,
bonding, annealing
silver laces’
memories, we
tender deep-
kiss goodnight,
too invigorated
to sleep,
too tired
to dream,
holding close,
returning the
cradles to. . .
the phones:
silver laces.

--March 9, 2002
@pth