The moments when caresses reach into the softness of empassioned bodies, Where I realize that we must feel every moment, because it is so easy to do.
The moments when twinkling lights across the blurred river tell me that my time here is waning,
The moments when my eyes soften on you and your lips caress the soul of my being.
The moments when I don’t move for a whisper, but come alive for it.
The moments when we join the time and space of ourselves, stretching across the chasm of infinity, where breath flows like rain.
The moments when I realize that the dawn brings a departure in which I leave only in body.
The moment I realized that the larger part of me never left you.
The moment I see;
The moment you see;
The moment we see those eyes of the other over pleasured touches.
The moments of time that tick away in sleep most peaceful.
The moments of rushing engines in my ears, and the exhilaration of shaking metal matching the trembling furor of my fingers. The moments of leaving on that Southern Bird, back to the haunted passages of my living ghost.
The moments when tears, amazement, and the emotion of the heart are broken and battered over the lift into the skies. Take me Phoenix-Bird. Take me there . . .
The moments when I didn’t see the Grand Desert anymore; the moments that sorrowed me out of your open sky of heaven . . . oh how I suffered, then.
The moments when I felt my heart fall out from my bones onto a ground of clouds.
The moments when those tears were free. The moments when I see that these tears ARE free to miss you.
Lifetimes later, the moments of desire and despair in water over my knees that steams in fingered resonance, slowly across my soul.
The moments of ocean’s depth and plunging back into you, the taste of your body, the flavor of your smile, Forward . . . hurled madly into the laughter that destroyed my strength, flinging me downward into a loss of resolve.
The moments of finding purpose and making you proud.
The moments of coming and going, from where I once called home, to the flashing of where I belong.
Into the West . . .
She says in songed voice, "you move me."Â
And yes, Mi Amor . . . you really do . . . move me.
Buffering . . . ©2015 Melissa Alexander, Gypsy, The Gypsy Shadow http://thegypsyshadow.blogspot.com/2015/04/vuelo-de-la-pajara-desierto.html