It’s funny he thinks I’m black, because I am in this place Imagined as Africa... he sees only my body - which is not even that, as a beautiful sexual object. Conditioned by what society told him to see. Fooled by his senses. Still he worships it pleasingly... I love his soft approach and protective nurture, i love how he tries to keep me up, sweet songs. But I realise, he has not yet even glimpsed my Soul, my true being. I’ve imagined all of it.
Old ways of talking became fossilised, I gave nectar sweeter and purer than his old and average teachers, he calls guru. But he could not see it, see past my body - what wisdom could she hold? Stuck on the old, the safe, unchangeable, and all open expressions of love refused; we hide behind so much, and so he missed me entirely. And so,
the story of two lovers soul’s dancing
between time matter and space
closer, brighter, tighter
fades away
fades away
as he falls deeper into justifying his sensory pleasures
deeper into darkness
and I watch him fade
into the darkness
which he loves so dearly
more than me.
Or maybe he was always there,
and I imagined him entirely.
I imagined him entirely
Love, like Rumi said
between two lovers
turns to God
Love washes and pains
stabs and sings
sounds from times
(before, after) always yet Now.
Soaked in holding each other higher
in holding each others hearts
but always
the hurt of all the worlds things
the moving fleshes of silent souls
move in to separate.
So love goes on
alone in my soul
still full
I sink deeper into myself.
They go on dancing inside me
lovers
RadhaKrishna
I know that where I am
God is too
I crave his hand
sweet voice
kind eyes
but who is he now?
I’ve imagined him entirely. A faulty clinging memory
when pleasure turns to poisen
it stopped growing higher
I hope God helps me this time
(cos i’m always moaning
and my heads so full with lovers)