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"Lovers don't finally meet somewhere;
they are in each other all along."
I have done what lovers do in Dali paintings:
Climbed your twining limbs to taste the fruits you offer
Swung from your fingers like a star from Orion’s belt
Trimmed my timeworn sails to the wind of your breath.
These things we do in dreams, these things we never thought
Were possible: I have done them.
I have felt you buried in the roots of me
Felt you rising in my belly like slow bees
Found you in the tall grass of early morning
When you turned your face to me, sleepy-eyed
As a lion on the make: I know you, stranger.
We were in each other long before we met.
Was it you I hunted in primal forests where nightmares ruled?
Was I the rudder that tilled your Viking ship?
We chased each other down the slopes of eternity and tumbled
Into forgetfulness: the fumbled innocence of childhood
The brilliant distractions that baffled and molded us
All through this wild, aching, amnesiac life;
And now we are awake. These things we never thought
Were possible: we have done them.
I trim my timeless sails to the wind of your breath
I swing from your fingers, a star from Orion’s belt
I climb the lovely limbs of your body
Disappearing, like Dali’s beloved, in the boundless sky behind your eyes.