sanguine

to touch you, mara, makes me think of birds;

the way they hide their filigree of bone

and vibrate under fingers. your sweet soft

enfolds a bird’s heart, ever on the wing.

there’s something in you of that little bird

that sang and pressed its breast against a thorn

to give a scarlet rose to an idea

(red ink for someone else’s promise-pen)

i see you love to bleed. i love it, too.

but you and i, we also slake our thirst

on freely-given blood (that sacred cup

which, offered to our lips, we turn to wine

which waters fields so infinite within

that worlds can spin and form from what we grow)

this is our secret, mara. yours and mine.

that our delight, our anguish, lights the sun

and pirouettes the moon. i love you true,

my dearest birdheart girl, my northmost star,

because, in every honesty, i’m you

and you are me, and all is what we are.

photo credit: marfis75 “Prayer” (license)