PART 1

anticipation & desire

* * *

"Let us be candles ..."

    THE REAL HEARTH

    Let's heat up the night to a boil.
    Let's cook every drop of liquid
    out of our flesh till we sizzle,
    not a drop of come left.

    We are pots on too high a flame.
    Our insides char and flake
    dark like sinister snow idling down.
    We breathe out smoke.

    We die out and sleep covers
    us in ashes. We lie without
    dreaming, empty as clean grates.
    Only breath moves hissing.

    Yet we wake rebuilt, clattering
    and hungry as waterfalls leaping off,
    rushing into the day, roaring
    our bright intentions.

    It is the old riddle in the Yiddish
    song, what can burn and not burn up,
    a heart, a body, passion that gives
    birth to itself every day.

    The body does not wear out with
    use, nor does love, so let us
    use each other in the best of ways
    as the hours jump off the cliff.

    marge piercy


    WILD NIGHTS — WILD NIGHTS!

    Wild Nights — Wild Nights!
    Were I with thee
    Wild Nights should be
    Our luxury!

    Futile — the Winds —
    To a Heart in port —
    Done with the Compass —
    Done with the Chart!

    Rowing in Eden —
    Ah, the Sea!
    Might I but moor — Tonight —
    In Thee!


    emily dickinson


    LINEAMENTS OF DESIRE

    going down from the attic
    you hold the ladder
    as I descend
    the afternoon light

    we pause on the porch
    to catch the sun as it falls
    behind the horizon of houses
    and I smile at the flashes
    of copper in your beard

    in the blinding brightness
    you stand between me
    and the sun setting
    tendrils ablaze

    a warm summer breeze
    ruffles your hair
    and the unbuttoned
    loose fitting
    striped cotton shirt
    that covered your chest
    all day in soft folds
    as you lift your hand
    to lean on the white
    stucco wall of the house
    the front of your shirt
    like the flap of a tent
    falls open

    a slant ray of sunlight
    shadows the hair
    on the skin of your arm
    and your chest
    now bare
    draws my glance

    my eyes flicker down
    to the curve of your breast
    and the nipple at the center
    of the cheek of your breast

    looking away
    then glancing again
    my eyes alight
    where my lips would linger

    though I dare not
    rest my head on the rise
    of your chest
    my eyes trace the naked
    line of your flesh
    to the nipple I would touch
    with the tip of my tongue


    patti tana


    The moth's kiss, first!
    Kiss me as if you made believe
    You were not sure, this eve,
    How my face, your flower, had pursed
    Its petals up; so, here and there
    You brush it, till I grow aware
    Who wants me, and wide ope I burst.

    The bee's kiss, now!
    Kiss me as if you entered gay
    My heart at some noonday,
    A bud that dares not disallow
    The claim, so all is rendered up,
    And passively its shattered cup
    Over your head to sleep I bow.


    robert browning
    — from "In a Gondola"


    THE DANCE

    On the walkway above the summer creek
    we touch and kiss, your hand cups
    the long smooth muscle of my back,
    we move to the pulse of valve and blood.
    Our bodies urge us, they say
    yes, and oh yes. But the waiting
    is so sweet we choose it, we linger
    at each brush of lip on lip as if it were
    new wine, to be rolled around the mouth
    before we swallow. Once, anticipation
    was something to outrun.
    Now it's what we love most,
    the slow, slow build before,
    like all the little moments of our lives
    gathering toward the last breath.


    robin jacobson


    LITTLE ACTS OF LOVE

    Shaking out clean sheets
    that crisp lightly scented caress,
    I make my bed ready for you.

    I wash my hair, trim
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