“We are each of us angels with only one wing
and we can only fly embracing each other.”
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.