song of night

Together,
we are song of night,
                      inflection of
                                   fear
matching pitch of pleasure,
melody weaving need - a living thing. A longing
           waiting
for a time,
      a rhyme, for the power of day to
leave
and belief to level.  Desire gasps
      beneath the suffocation of all that is granted and all
that is
                                          found,
and the tune
graciously
gathers the lost while the tempo
gathers speed.
                        We are the lost, and the beat pounding is
                                           sounding like the voices of settling
repetition and my ears burn warm.  Curved by
                                                         void, I flow and every no I've known is
                                                              drowned out by the interlacing of sensation throbbing
               
                                                                     triumphant.
                                                                        I am halved, mind running,
                                                                                                                          gone and mad but
body here, though barely, becoming
                                        craft.
 I am skin coated dust,
patterned currency and you
the specialty, circling my weight, my instinct, my thirst.
                You hold my disquiet bent like a long,
long held
                                                    note.  The key floats above, sharp, but though I
                                                                                              strain, I can't make it out.  I don't know you.  I am
tearing beyond repair in the air in this room.  I am parabolic
   and you labor for another turn.  You are driven by
sight and I am needing now to listen,
pair
pain with pain and still play on.
 Above my shape, choose wisely to compose the score.
         Elevated, feign mastery, elegance.  Ease
                               me into
                                      not what you think but into what I feel.  Show me how
                                         to grip
and guide between surrender,
mesh with absence so the night is filled with
music.  We are the same, and I need to hear your
                                              name.  Thrum but low so I can taste
                                                          the rain.

The Sunday Whirl