the blacksmith's anvil, the lovers' bed

Pythagoras was a music critic
all things in relationship,
harmony and proportion is beauty
the universe is ordered,
sequenced and nuanced

all planets are aligned with clouds
of free thought,
in its center, we are lovers
making love
ascending
and descending, blending ripe
juices of conquest

I am Frida wild on your fingertips

sometimes the best poems are a
canvas
created from nothing,
sometimes we have
nothing to say, sometimes we break
down, lacking even the scorch of air

but sleep comes when it does
in it we are
dreamers, embracing then
moving away, you on your edge,
me on mine,
falling

suspended in mid-air, our bed is an island,
sparks fly, poke holes in the darkness.