Within the Cosmic Egg

So many mornings awoke within me as we cradled each other in the chill of this winter's wind. The moment felt heavy within this perception that all could be forgotten, like these graceful seconds and minutes nestling inside for warmth might complete us. It was only a game we had forgotten how to play, a riddle we had neglected to solve; but now we have stirred up a different kind of heat as her breathe quickened under my roaming hands.

The taste of honey met the touch of silk. We lay quivering in the stillness of this frigid domicile.

She kissed my cheek. Fingers through hair. Hints of the sunshine to come. Stealing glances through the window at nothing.

The poem I couldn't finish from last night touched the back of my mind for a flash; even now I couldn't help but melt my way down into this embrace. Deeper still, warmer, lips met. She dances flamenco in my dreams like a high priestess in the Order of the Rose. Here and now in the heart of Santa Cruz we danced instead without form or reason, touched gracefully and caressed with bloody sweetness.

Not twelve minutes later we were walking through the steamy streets towards the final stop in this little carnival of our neuroses. We had said our farewells long before, so now we simply walked up the block to the station holding hands. Silence, breathing. Waving as she pulls away. Silence, breathing, walking slowly to my car.

Later, perched over a cup of coffee and cream, I sent her one last text message:

"We are but deities 

stomping thunder 

and blessing rain, 

hands to the heavens 

grasping the infinite."

Empty cup, silence, breathing, walking slowly to my car. Alone like before, yet somehow bigger... perhaps a mark was left in some hidden crevasse of my stride, or at least I felt righteous. Silence, breathing.