“
to my smooth and golden god “
c. 10/16/2000, Miriam M. Wynn
smooth god
with your golden chrysanthemum tea skin
that is so smooth and sweet
hot like the liquid that runs down my throat
I imagine you sweet as a melon.
such a melon
is the kind roundness of your
shaven head
a bald humility that makes you noble
like a great silent stallion,
the monstrous elk with gentle step
beautiful just with your agile, perfect being.
when God made
you he was in a good mood
licked his fingertips as he worked the soil
that became your soul
and when he was through your very dirt
glowed with his sacred saliva
and you became a god, a touched man
a decent man who is so bright
he beams with knowledge and with grace
like the great rare beast of sentience you are.
on those rosy
darling lips I recognize without mistake
your daring wit and agile mind
flawed with arrogance and pride
that I would have to learn to tame and befriend
that I would have to learn to gentle
like the soft leathery noses of the stupendous beasts of
the world
who would never bow to me.
the stars tell
me we would go well together
a union of power and prowess
two lovers made of fire
satisfaction gained by both.
I am willing to pursue it, in fact,
am wooed into pursuing it,
and when our paths do cross
my wary fingers will reach out
brave with expectation,
and if you snort in derision or mistrust
my own low grunt of welcome will greet you
so that you will
know what you are in for,
so that you cannot fight the touch of friendship.
when these fingers
make contact with
your incredible flaming skin
the electricity will course through us
and you will know such sweetnesses
that I have brought you from afar--
carrying them with my wares of
warmth and truth
kind somethings, stories to tell you.
by the fire I
will win your trust with
one and then two and then three
all the stories of the world spoken softly
and deeply by the light of man’s intelligence.
with this trust I will woo from you conversation
and you will slowly open to me,
words one by one dropping brimming as ripened
plums from glowing purple-leaved trees.
I will pluck
up these plums and bite them,
lovingly devouring their every content,
and proffer them to you altered, dripping,
with my own saliva, my own thoughts.
we will create anew, ourselves,
as God created Man,
fingers roving freely in the mud as we form
runes, symbols, stars.
in this language
will we exchange meaning,
until speech is needed no more,
eyes will speak a thousandfold
and our very breath will carry our thoughts.
when this happens,
I shall rise from my bed beside the fire and
come to you, hands offered,
and you will look at me still so proud
until the moment I whisper your name,
a syllable too powerful and sweet to spell,
a moniker so grand as to shake the very earth
right down to my swelling soul.
filled with you
I will breathe you out,
and you will
catch scent of your own nature,
wrapped in me, the one who has gentled you
with conversation.
at that moment,
the sweetest of all,
you will look at me with new knowledge.
yes, I am the one who has conquered you,
but you were in the end, willing.
and I was long ago conquered by that
mysterious smile, brooding restrained
and private on a face so simple,
so very exotic,
such eyes so mysterious with secrets
of their own to tell,
that I could not help myself when I beheld you,
for you were as simple as one of God’s mysteries.
on beholding
you all was lost.
on touching you my fate was sealed.
on speaking to you yours entwined with mine
and on touching you again, you faltered
and allowed me in.
I thank you,
my kind one,
my most noble being of all,
for your generosity, for your forgiveness,
for your willingness to let me in.
I will cherish
every moment, every hour
spent beside your formidable presence,
and learn from it as I teach you also what I know.
Two matched souls
stood separate yet there is
only something natural in their
becoming one, a two-fold miracle,
and destiny will woo them one another.
I will reach
out to you to make that
Delicate and burning miracle come true,
For that miracle is love,
And love is you.
