Babbles that Led Somewhere

The other night I was babbling with a friend of mine from N.H., and we got on the subject of Sangria. From there, our babble went to a poem that the image of a punchbowl full of Sangria inspired.

25 June, 2006

Sangria Dance

Thank you James,
you helped this one be born.


The Earth Mother she is ,
generous of form and self,
dancing with her courtier.
She looks up without fear
into depthless green eyes.
Smoothing blonde hair back
from his face before tasting
sangria from the fragile glass,
warming taste upon his lips.

They laugh and feed one another
tid-bits of fruit from the bowl
with their fingers, and suckle
them when they are sweet and sticky.
Candle-light gilds their faces and hair,
the scent of sandalwood swirling
around them in its own sensual haze,
adding another layer of sensation.

Where their hands lightly meet,
and contact one another's biorhythm
they feel hot and also
exquisitely excitable to
their conversation of touch.
They can feel the breath
caught in the other's throat,
the thunder of their pulse
known through fingertips.

They begin to glow a little,
as if their personal suns
were on the Equinoctal rise.
His finger follows the sheen on
her cheekbone, down to the lips,
chin, and past, to the throat,
offered up in its vulnerability.

Her sound of aquiescence is
so silent and yet pealing
like a polished Temple gong.
She is within the Circle of
his tender heart and arms.
And she feels the taste of Home.

He revelsin the fullness of his arms,
and the voiceless siren-song of
her racing pulse in his temples.
His armour clatters to the ground,
bereft of logic, and reason.

They meet, two open hearts,
their spirits have already met.
Alpha and Omega become one,
curling to effortless Yin-and-Yang,
and swirl into the galaxy to become
brilliant nebulae bound in place by
silvery strands of Eternal Balance.

Here is their all,
and all that truly matters.
This moment of total exchange,
when the glorious Sum is
truly greater than the Whole.
In that brief timelessness
they become another entity
'We'.

We dance, laughing and
drinking to one another,
the candles dying one at a time.
In the light of a lone, white candle,
bouncing from the mirror back,
to become small flecks of gold
in the embrace of darkness.

Our own living galaxy,
formed when two lone spirits connect
and then hold, keeping the connexion
while nurturing it with passion,
laughter, gentleness and innocence.
Innocent of meanness,
motive, or possessiveness,
while replete with loyalty,
understanding and acceptance.

The connexion will ever exist
because we will it to be thus.
Our breaths have become an
Ohm of joyous sound,
sung in harmony with the
sweet Music of the Spheres.
God and Goddess we become,
sanctified, and ennobled by our touch.

The touches that trail burning starfire,
and leave glaciers of chills in their wake.
The sensations that slowly build,
each another resounding note in
our private symphony of desire.

Our heat is a become Solstice Bonfire,
symbol of a turning, a rebirth.
the taste of our desire is mixed
with the heady, sparkling sangria
flowing in around and through us.

In this heady stratosphere we fly,
as dragons do court their mates.
Powerful, stately, and glorious.
There is no need to seek affirmation,
we already know what is true,
and act upon that knowing.
We dance ever more closely,
with hands moving across backs
and cupping a waist here,
a clenching bicep there.

Had these sensations form
they would leave tracers
beyond the known heavens,
an Aurora of Kirlian light,
touching the deep spaces.
In this trance of senses,
and light of utter clarity,
we join, as lovers.

Our dance has become
one that is more private,
more primal.
The song of our creation,
the source of growing union
and bright-lit hope