I married my medium
before any man
wrapped a band around my finger
And I walked,
with confidence
in his Husbandry,
his midnight conversations
staining my pages
with the spilled ink of my weeping soul,
inhaling my experiences
and whispering the music
that even his mystery can't muffle.
He wrote me,
gushing out the pain
on the hidden, tattered pages
in every color ink
until my heartbeat was his inkwell
and my sleep his inspiration.
We walked between,
beyond the bayside ceremonies,
beneath the body,
breathing
being
just enjoying the buzz
of shared space
and evening's luster
sparkling in each other's eyes.
And we are jazz,
jammin' just like July,
jumping in between notes
jeering
genetically shift gears
until what I sweat he reads
and my words pour from his lips.
This intimacy
intoxicates every audience and
infiltrates,
exacting aim
like an arrow,
injecting
amorousness
easily,
expectedly,
effortlessly.
That's why He
is my Passion.
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