Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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I believe in the faith
Of a thousand turtles
Guided by belief
Driven by instinct.
It’s like this affection.
Natural and willing
The culmination of
Desire and need,
Greed and lust,
These eggs we bury
On the shoreline
Of togetherness.
It’s a beautiful hunger.
Awaking with hard yearning,
The blush of heated skin
Awaiting lips and tongue,
Eager hands and thoughts
That burn like the veins
Of crisp fallen leaves
In this longest autumn;
Camouflage immolation,
We uncover our common ground
And clear away our obscuring fear.
Oh how beautiful
This fire that we welcome.
How reveaking with its
Licks and purge,
A climax of untold intensity
Tearing though body and mind,
Tensing muscle and stealing breath,
A serum of joy and pain
Administered to those bold enough
With open hearts
Cleared of the debris of yesterday
That littered the stumbling,
Broken and misguided
Attempts at adoration
That felt as natural as sunrise
But were always dusks
Making it impossible to see
Ourselves.
So now these eyes snap open
As the air grows cold
And this body feels starved
Of moaning bliss.
But Spring’s promise
Is in the hearth of loneliness
And I warm myself,
My sandy-limbed
And salt-sweat beliefs
Exactly where they are
Suppose to be;
Dreaming of you.
Buried in the season
Of us.

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