This art remains in motion,
Always immersed in love and desire.
This art dances as taxi fingers,
Arriving and leaving,
Destinations populated by joy and ecstasy and love,
Roads traveled deliver as much pleasure as arrival.
This art swirls in emotions,
Ranging from low, gravel, ember-hot stirrings
To high, white-flame pierces of release.
Afloat on a sea of rising breath and falling thrusts for the next rise,
The tempest at once calmed by the artist’s strokes,
Enraged into inferno,
All to the whim and chaos of creativity.
This art flits off a branch,
A bird soaring and diving and climbing and gliding to presence –
To disappearance –
To clarity –
To nebulous colors of emotion –
To desire’s motivation and goal –
To intellect’s delay of gratification –
To love that washes all together in cataclysmic, volcanic eruption
the culmination of all passions running the ridge of existence in two lives.
This art flutters,
Two gentle leaves,
Falling to the soft confines of post-apocalyptic sheets,
Cradled in entanglements of arms, legs, lips, eyes, and hearts,
Moans and screams cast aside for rhythms of breath,
Contemplations of connection beyond words,
Two lives into one form,
Two souls into one life,
Two hearts into one love.
This art begins in positivity.
A kind gesture.
A gentle word.
A loving touch.
A knowledge of trust.
A hand in a hand.
Anything good and kind and gentle between two whose love knows trust.
This art subsides much the same.
Relinquishment of time.
Trust hugged and held tight.
A hand in a hand.
Depth in the eyes.
Desire nestling into peace.
Love acknowledged over and over.
This art knows no master other than the ones who create their dream.
Those who allow themselves the freedom to express without fear.
Those who allow connection beyond safety.
Those who make vulnerable their most inner hearts.
This art best crafts and grows bold by those who propel themselves headlong into danger.
Those willing to play in the clouds without fear of heights.
Those able to dive deep into oceans of emotion without fear of drowning.
In fact, to pepper the heavens with celestial love
Or to drown in each other’s hearts becomes more the goal than a fear.
This art rests.
Cuddled together like perfectly contoured bodies.
All touch confused as to where one body ends and the other begins.
This art rests in love.
In the heart.
In the soul.
In soft snores of sated hungers –
Only to rekindle another time,
Another silken touch,
Another hand in hand,
Another knowing look of love.