The Soul Should Not Be Handled
Poem by David R. Bannon
You do not answer.
Clasping smooth wood, pale
mouth curved in a slow smile -
provocative, daring -
body curving so softly:
velvety texture,
white-flashing smile.
I am aware of you.
Time hangs heavy.
I allow dark eyes to wander -
slow regard, missing nothing.
Your voice deepens a little.
I take you by the shoulders:
soft, a creamy smoothness.
We quiver perceptibly.
Arms close about us.
Our breath catches suddenly -
sweet yielding, pitifully human -
looking down into your face:
very near, your eyes meet mine
with pulsing pupils,
the flicker of - something -
deep behind their shallows.
Through the clamor of blood -
even as lips brush, shy and bold -
something deep quivers:
inexplicable, instinctive.
What is it? We cannot tell.
Dark knowledge hungry in dark pupils.
For a mad instant we know.
An ancient invocation -
older than we realize, now or ever -
fills the room of darkness:
moonlight and moving shadows.
Something - comforting and silent -
light and loose between us.
Softness of impossible intimacy.
Moving gently, very gently -
soft, caressive pressure that sends
thrills of delight through us -
every nerve a perilous delight:
Beyond physical pleasure,
deeper than joy of the mind.
Caressing the roots of our souls.
Ecstasy leaves us weak yet we know-
in knowledge born of this dream -
turning pleasure into rapture:
we try to part, but half-heartedly.
In intimacy terrible and close
but still most sweet, we know:
The soul should not be handled.
Yet the delight of our bodies
is so great our hands all but
refuse the attempt - devouring rapture:
a struggle of soul against willful body.
Titanically we resist until
the moving shadows cloud and close about us.
We sink into oblivion.
If we could forget our eyes -
deepness beyond words -
we could forget everthing:
curves so beautifully soft,
pulses mounting, kindling within
awareness and mysteries.
Excitement presages something momentous.
Brilliant moonlight lights the room -
warning instinct clamors -
yet it is an ordinary thing to do:
lips brushing over skin.
Ordinary for anyone, anywhere,
presentiment stirring within.
Cloth folds loosen.
An unwinking gaze, fascinated incredulity -
not realizing the motion -
stares at one lock of hair.
Hands caress and cheeks quiver:
We do not dream.
We are beyond wondering. We realize that.
We unfasten the last fold.
We lay in the shadows -
frozen within and without.
In a moment our eyes must meet.
Our hearts stop, we cannot pull them away.
The dark all but hides our bodies.
Our faces turn very slowly.
Somehow there is beauty.
Eyes meet. We feel a shock -
shudders ripple down our paralyzed spines -
skin rising:
eyes locked in a long, long look,
presaging not altogether unpleasant
murmurous promises.
We speak in a voiceless voice.
We succumb to a blind abyss of submission -
but the sight of each other draws
us out of the seductive dark:
We put up our hands and like swimmers
part the heady tension,
find absolution in this sacrament.
For a moment we are forgiven.
You reveal your own body -
smile exquisitely, sweetly curved -
and I discover knowledge:
the realization of vast backgrounds
reaching into misted history.
I know that I look upon Love.
In that moment our eyes meet again.
Smiling, glass in the moonlight -
half-hooded under drooping lids -
we hold out our arms:
Something soul-shakingly desireable
surges in our blood. I stumble toward you
like a sleeper in a dream.
You sway toward me.
In your cloak of living beauty -
infinitely graceful, infinitely rare -
moonlight slides and shines over you:
Losing itself only to glint again
and move silvery along quivering skin.
Shuddering beauty too real to contain.
All this we but half realize.
Murmurs tremble within us -
promising, caressing, alluring -
eyes holding each other:
clear and burning like the depths of jewels.
Behind the pulsing pupils of darkness
lies a greater dark that holds all things.
We know; dimly, we know.
When we gaze behind the shallows of our eyes -
all beauty and delight and infinite darkness -
we know what is behind them:
the dark is not to be feared.
Like ancestors wise and good
we embrace forbidden colors trapped in the dark.
But the soul should not be handled.
Our eyes open like windows on a kaleidescope -
paned with glass, revealing what we kept secret -
Your lips move:
a murmur blends with the silence
and the sway or our bodies,
softly, passionately.
We speak now. "Oh, beloved!"
"What was forbidden we denied ourselves" -
murmurs swelling and caressing -
"No one forbade us:
Only our foolish selves
refused to shine light on these colors.
Light on the soul is a sacrament of love."
Quietly, the darkness dispels.
Arms slide round us - promising,
compelling, sweeter than sweet -
bodies clinging, arms locked about necks:
with a whisper and a rush
love closes about us.
We feel it is our first embrace.
Our lives are naked.
In this graven instant - a flash of sensation
before surrendering -
the gentle caresses on our flesh
seem an ecstasy beyond words:
beyond the body, beyond the mind,
tickling the roots of the soul.
The soul should not be handled. It should be given.
We stand while this beauty thrills through us -
through every atom of our bodies,
and the intangible atoms of the soul -
through all that is us.
Our bodies answer the root-deep ecstasy,
innermost depths rejoicing in delight.
Our caresses tenderly accept all things.
This conflict - of sudden knowledge
and old dark souls given new light -
mingles rapture and deep tremors
of infinite pleasure:
Deeply, behind all this, we shake with
joy through it all. Our souls are free.
We discover purity at last.
We do not stir in this ecstatic embrace.
A peace is spreading - growing deeper with
each wave of delight.
Our souls strengthen.
We cease to struggle, surrendering wholly
to intense light.
***
WHAT I WAS TRYING TO SAY:
This is a poem about overcoming fear of intimacy. It begins on a purely
physical level and (If I was successful) moves to the deeper sensuality
of true intimacy -- the sharing of souls. At first it may seem
analogous to a battle with temptation -- our own fears of the "dark"
within. But as the poem progresses, the dark is revealed as nothing
more than fear of intimacy. It is not temptation, but our own
preconceived notions of what should and should not be shared that bind
us from true sharing. When the soul is given freely, its wondrous
colors are so bright that the dark fear may be forgotten. What do you
think?
The One I Love
Poem by Tracy Strait Elmira
As I lay her thinkin'
I can think of only you
I wish we were together
but somehow it didn't work out.
I wish somehow we can start all over
but I know that's never gonna come.
I know it's kind of hard to understand,
but for you are the one I love and the one with
the key to my heart.
I think of you every night
and sometimes I can't sleep.
I think of how good it would be,
if we would only still be together.
I try to think of other things,
but I can only think of you.
I guess I can't get over you,
but I'm sure gonna try.
For now I can only think
of all the good times we've had.
The way you make me laugh, your smile,
and everything we've done.
There's a lot more than what I named,
those are just a few.
I just pray some day
that we will be in love forever.
You're always on my mind
and I can't stop thinkin' about you.
I'm sittin' here alone and still
all I can think about is you.
People tell me you're still in love with me,
some say you have to move on.
As every day goes by I'm still thinkin about you.
It doesn't matter where I am or whom I'm with
I'm still thinkin' about you,
you're always on my mind.
I've tried my hardest to forget you,
but I guess I still can't.
I'ld give anything to be with you,
to have you by my side.
All I know is if we never get back together,
I'll never forget you, your smile, your love,
and the way you treated me.
I Love You Always and Forever!
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