I Want to Make Love

I want to make love
to you  - dear Life,
as you peel open petals
of a livid rose,
with the opulent light
of your fingertips.

I want to melt into
the slanting rain
in its slow free fall,
finding its way
into the dark bosom
of a restful earth.

I want to kiss
the ink-stained worlds
of unrequited tears,
darkening over
the restless ripples
of a long-forgotten moon.

I want to caress
the lingering space
where wild geese glide
in an enticing foreplay
between breath
and water.

I want to touch the flame
of your secret longing
to keep me aroused,
on the razor's edge
of insignificant,
yet infinite possibilities.

I want to lose myself
to the quiet immensity
of your timeless presence,
and hover in the scent
of simple nothingness,
seeping out through your pores.

And so here I am
an upturned rock
on a drained out river,
clasped between the palms
of parting winds,
waiting to make love, to you.