Tag Archives: hands

the impossible dream

like hands, Spring leaves reach
for the moon haloed in mist:

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2017


separation – a memory (for Lan)

drunken with your beauty I pass
night after night without rest
intoxicated with your love    I want not
the power to free myself from this longing
that tears me apart in sleeplessness
I wander through a desert of freedoms
consuming images of you:
hair of restless silk
eyes of dancing tigress
skin of nacre gilded
arms of secret charms
hands of comets of fire
breasts of sources hidden
belly of honeyed wave
strait sweet thing
of wild strawberries made
buttocks of lyrical wonder
legs of clouds echoing thunder
feet that bear a heavenly burden:
images of you that float
above the sandlike waves
of this arid sea the dawn wind
cuts from me  drunken with your beauty
intoxicated with love of you
each night far from you I die
in the high barren plains
of my wakefulness

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2015


when I see you   my heart says  there exists
beauty of body   beauty of spirit

I see you and I want to kiss your eyes
your lips   your supple hands   fingers
your breasts and belly   your hips
that little fleshly strait whose taste
evokes thoughts of strawberries in the wild
your thighs   the back of your knees
your ankles   your toes   all of you
yes   yes all of you   again and again

when I see you  there speaks inside my head
the serpent’s voice   this is the fruit
of goodness and of pain   take it
taste of it   of its confusion   its joy
between hell and heaven there is no difference

I’m ready now  more than ever
for the abyss    for paradise
for I know only we can make it so

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© Gregory V Driscoll 2014

wish (for Lan)

may your eyes that flash like lightning
ever fill my misty skies
and the fire of your beauty
warm my earth so full of sighs
may your hands like gentle rain
descend each night upon
my parched and fitful sleep
and may you the treasure of your soul
forever and always keep
in the surety of my love

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2013

singles match

the opening serve:
lips on lips    hand to buttocks.
return move:  tongue probe
nails tingle spine    hand on nape.
approach shot:  lips to nipples.

return:  jamming down.
serve:  fingers to her sweetspot.
both:   grinding    grunting
wild lips    torsos    limbs    hands    tongues
smashes    lobs    slices   volleys

closed stance    open stance
strong follow-throughs    no faults made.
here play champions:
eager server holds to love
bold receiver breaks to love

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2013

To the woman on the morning ferry

These many months I have seen you, woman.
Yet not once before this did I truly see
those small-boned hands fluttering like doves,
or the dark enchantment of your eyes.
Perhaps it was night that misted my poor sense,
or the day’s worries breeding in my brain
that kept me from the wonder which you are.
Surely it was no defect in you
that held me in darkness all this while.
But now and, I trust, long hereafter
you shall be to me the wind at dawn
that fills the canvas of our dreams,
as I, like an ancient sloop, groaning turn
to breach once more the waves of time.

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011

For Lan

Lovely One!  I will seek out your true name
in the thicket that dismays your heart,
in the forests that darken your eyes,
in the loon that calls at sunset.

I will seek again your beauty
in the waters of heaven and earth,
in the sea and in the clouds, in the stars,
in the rivers, and in our blood.

Come! Come teach me your secret name,
with your lips and your stillness,
with your moan and your shout
in the mad dance of our bodies.

Come!  Teach me once more about beauty,
with your hair that shimmers like the night,
with your eyes and with your smile,
with those wondrous, sturdy worlds

of your breasts and your hands;
with your belly like a level plain;
with your comely buttocks and your flexed thighs,
with your pressing knees and your calves,

with the soles of your feet, your heels, your toes.
Oh, the deeper beauty of your spirit!
Forever would I sing out your praises,
lovely one, and forever dwell in this splendor!

I will seal it in vowels and consonants,
in the trickle of ink on the page,
in the blood that knocks at the gates
of tomorrow, that shouts “Love! Love!”

Though this our now imperfect flesh perish,
our souls shall fly toward the abiding sun,
two cranes on wings of fire and rain…

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(c) Gregory V Driscoll  2011