Time Melts
as we melt—–
flesh to flesh being the spirit’s most endless zone.
How can I be this close without losing myself?
Miles of details arrive: geography & jobs,
calls & letters, yet still you are the screen close-up
at the back of my mouth. Yes, still we are the hourglass
in the inferno of passion, & glass walls expand,
& the sand never stops.
Such is the silk of our skin, as smooth, as fine.
Such is our rhythm: the merging, the re-forming
of evaporative air ’til all of my colors are water’s
condensation & you shape my every page,
a Song of Solomon welling, spreading
clean as distilled love can.
Resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, https://thestephenmeadchromamuseum.weebly.com/ ,Stephen Mead is a retiree whom, throughout all his pretty non-glamorous jobs still found time for writing poetry/essays and creating art. Occasionally he even got paid of this. Currently he is trying to sell his 40-year backlog of unsold art before he pops his cogs, Art Collection from Stephen Mead
