-the secret stirings- 

epilogue

Rise, army of incessant lovers and paint
your lithe bodies with liquid sun and soft mist
Stretch your strength across every rift
your detractors devise, this, your intimate gift
to us, your sad shadows who haunt every blackened vale
and cold city tomb, every lonely untouched room...
We, who sing of your conquests and your pain,
We who sculpt your summer struts and froth
your clean blue seas and decry impossible skies...
We who yearn for the gaze of your forgetful eyes.

i

The spiral of our stark white dreams
flows over our dark flapping ruffled forms
like the chill sorrow of newborn streams
hastening to the sultry amber dawn.
Yet, how can stillness caress, unless
we are the love undressed
by the barest touch of shivering breath,
the simplest and most subtle life
unowned, untrained, unamed
Our untamed wilderness welling 
like the thickness of our deepest blood.     

ii

On the surface, simplicity, as silent as starlight.
The textures of this tangible world
both bathes and ravages her tired skin.
Yet within, where unbirthed winds belie their dormancy,
where colours collapse into the sad dreams he loves,
there dwells the sudden hurt no-one can see -
the pain in sullen intimacy even he dares not speak of.
There, she flares like a drunken fire on a hot smoky night,
-the fire he dies for all of his life-
he plunges in before the heat dissipates -
A phoenix 
burning holes into her forgetful skin, bringing flames into sight.
It's this furious fight she fears, this torment she hates...
Yet, how she breathes like a storm
how he levels her landscape, clearing a distant view
And when she sighs, her skin warm
and tingling and raw, how she loves him anew
as if she never knew it before.  


The first part - the epilogue, is about the true lovers of this earth and about the
 poets who glorify them. For it seems that we who yearn for love create the 
lover's world - like a dualism, for lovers to exist there needs to exist those lonely 
poets and idealists who define their world...those who yearn for love are the 
anonymous and uncredited creators of the fanciful and dream-like world where 
the lovers dwell (in ignorance of their creators - their opposites). 


The second part of the poem more-or-less captures this feeling: How these 
lonely creators have a strength to them, and in reality a simple life closer to the 
wild untamed essence of love itself, because they yearn for passion and become 
passionate unsatiated beings....the invisible, yet raw substance of the lover's 
dream....


The third part is a less abstract, yet equally obtuse glimpse into the hidden 
depths of a lover's soul. Here we see hidden pain and the sexual healing her 
lover offers, how he purifies her hurt...and how painful this purification is...