Woman of my Soul
May 2020-Feb 2023
Bjorn Bengtsson
All springs are in you
Exclaim prophesy to me! Let every becoming rest on the nail of handless clocks.
Endear yourself to me. Draw nearer when I think only of you. Your empty blue sky. Woman, how do you soar me into and soar among me, then to soar in me, out of me?
Your touch is as the landing of moths.
Your desire as inscrutable may be, vestibule of blood I need, I drink. I embody body. Sex with you is astounding, a flora shop, wheat field, banking of desire. Most adventurous.
Being. I bathed in being! The promise of this worlds fleeting fecundities bored me. Sex with you enumerated all expanses into one.
Woman of my soul. What do you call me?
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Is it lover, friend, reflection, extension? Above all I wish you call me presently being. This accounts for each and more.
Should I avert my gaze. Let the dwindle of light taper, fall as though I had just then a presumptuous thought, and be caught like a falling petal in the hands of the great restorer.
Make me mulch, wineskin, necklace. Put stem straight back into me. However life continues, however mutinous or grandiose. Expend me to the ends of your being, being life, presently being.
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All springs are in you. Abound! My love, my lust by you deepens in sonorous drownings. This ocean! Vast and singular.
I am a wet pink petal on the bough of a still wave.
See me where air and water spirits messenger cross the bounds of their lot. They deal in clear blue.
I am a whisper left on the lip of the wind.
See me in empty blue sky. The death, the death, the consuming all-life!
I am the mourning dove’s night elegy.
Hear me spring’s dawn.
//
Soul woman would you speak to me. So simply. Eternal and mild. Milk lip me, my love.
On my flesh dress the words immanuel. Found in every situation. Elucidations on every situation. In a single situation.
Rapture of soul. Skip grace wind widener. The crevice corner lip of this universe rises. Call it a smile.
Indebted to being. Pass lovely with seeing - real being! Mystery morning bird call, first sunrise, wind tickling tree tongues, water through the throat, rain upheaved into blue, empty blue sky and now unfurling from the west Atlantic to caress my sensations in a tingling ocean in a drop of coolness.
God lifts a finger, sneezes. It’s spring.
Bless you God