Spool of the Moon

Baby’s black
and I am white,
two shades of blue sometimes,
and braided around
an orgasm
that we have at the very same time.

When we make love I both murder her
and revive her from the tomb,
stitching my spirit tightly to hers
with a thread from the spool of the moon.

and when we touch,
when we really touch
we make a mountain out of a moment,
although the elevated view it doesn’t mean that much
‘cept from the viewpoint
of
descent.
That’s why it’s so much fun to slide down moment mountain,
sliding to the bottom of our love.

The bottom’s the
foundation of
the pleasure and the pain,
and the bottom’s where
we do the work
so we can build that mountain again.
But a mountain range
of moments falls
behind a wisp of cloud
and we forget
that they were there,
all of these moments so tall and proud.
and yet when we touch, when we really touch
we make a mountain out of a moment,
although the elevated view it doesn’t mean that much
‘cept from the viewpoint
of
descent.
That’s why it’s so much fun to slide down moment mountain,
sliding to the bottom of our love.

History
is time condensed,
the future’s thin as steam. We cannot move
in either place.
The best we hope for is to sleep and dream.

We tend to look beyond
the moment that
we’re in and won’t allow
the fact that everywhere
we’ve ever been
is radiating from the here and the now
and that when we touch, when we really touch
we make a mountain out of a moment,
although the elevated view it doesn’t mean that much
‘cept from the viewpoint of descent.

That’s why it’s so much fun to slide down moment mountain,
sliding to the bottom of our love.