For Magdelana.
—
rain-drenched and disheveled
i will be guided by your grace
place my feet in the mist-kissed pattern of your own
and dance
swifter than disillusionment,
no time for shame
or self-rot,
or self-not,
i devolved into the sound
of rain
and i sang to you
of rivers and oceans
salt-touched mornings
and dark blue nights
until I lay against your breasts
wet beads of perspiration,
the scars of your dance,
one and the same.
That was lovely. I so miss the enchanting Magdelena.
D’jaevle,
my dance belongs to your voice.
Thank you for these beautiful words.
You are exquisite.