Literanista
March 26, 2007
The Residue of Man’s Exhalation
Swept in
like a breath of fresh air
across the expanse of naked flesh
newly washed.
Where goose bumps arise
at the touch of the tip of your tongue
or fingertip.
Tracing the silhouette
of some newly discovered
geography across my body
Like a fervent explorer
on some unclaimed landscape.
Dying and being reborn
with every breath and stroke
like a tiny million fireworks
blazing the sky
for fragments of time
and then fading away
and repeating.
So that the breath caught in my throat
is all that exists
and all else
is silent.
Caught, transposed, and suspended
by the touch of you and I.
Transfixed upon my memory,
like the stain of a stamp
or engraving on leather
where the topography
of the carvings
is reminiscent of
our dips and revolutions,
ebb and flows,
leaving me breathless
and anticipating
the next wave.
Preparing my body,
letting it be molded
into your chalice.
Allowing your tongue to trace
its delicate pale rim
and taste its promise
like reparation to a dying man.
Uplifted by your admiration,
transcendent and aglow,
left exalted, elevated and consecrated
I float through the day
held aloft
by the residue of your sweeping breath
hot on the
span of my neck
as my thoughts race
through my reflections
trying to recapture
a sense of you.
* Inspired & dedicated to W.
Very beautifully written with really an excellent flow and rhythm.
Let’s go gig together in the bronx at louder arts.