“We are each of us angels with only one wing

                                              and we can only fly embracing each other.”

                                              Luciano DeCresenzo                      

In the perfect dream,

after the goo-goo eyes,

for “love comes in at the eye,”

I butterfly my way across

an oceanic labyrinth, splashing

free of the whorl of the vortex,

floating past the whirlpool into

the safety of the blue grotto.

Finding you, I become your gentle

albatross, wrapping my twelve foot

argentine wings around you.

My soft feathers  swaddling you like a

mummified  pharaoh, a blissful  forgotten

imprint, a sienna colored daguerreotype of

 “mommy and I are one,”

 serene in a glabrous chrysalis

Put your arms around me and whisper

that you love me, even if it isn’t true.

Even  “Oetzi” the stone age “ice-man”

craved physical intimacy as did the dead souls

in the bleakness of Treblinka, a spark of eros

glimmered, like the “flower in the crannied wall.”

The body doesn’t lie, knows more

than words can say. The mind is full of

self-deception, flip-flopping like a teen

in search of a self, making faces in

a mirror, combing and re-combing his hair.

Like the man on the flying trapeze who reaches

for his partner without a net below, it’s a life

and death embrace.

Sinewy arms reach for a slender waist,

an Ambrosian chant of divine harmonies

wards off the black dog of ennui.