First Meditations

One of these mornings
You're gonna rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

"I can take you there" she says to me
mouth quirked in vexing appraisal
"All I need is your soul"
One raised eyebrow, one dark smile from perfect lips
a soft laugh rings through my ears like such sweet cruelty
Hungry eyes betray her gentle facade...she wants to make the sale

She tells me her name is art.

And in my beauty-blinded foolishness, I ask if that name isn't normally intended for men.

She laughs silk and smiles pearls, chestnut curls bat her hips with a natural sway.

Art, she says, belongs to all genders.

And I'm so captivated, I barely catch one entendre in the double.

She is the image Coltrane was painting with his saxophone.

Manifest memories of fresh mint and raspberries in the bushes behind my Grandparents' house.

I am lost in her existence.

"I can take you there" she says to me
mouth quirked in vexing appraisal
"All I need is your soul"

And I swear, I see horizon beyond her curves.
Tears caress my cheeks in eternal surrender
She takes my hand into hers
and leads me into the future.