Prologue to the Adagios Quartet
One narrow world that might be anywhere; but, for you,
it's here and it's now, now. Palest full moon in the window,
muted blue-grey shadows, smoke coiling within
variegated scintillae of light.
Just lie there.
Don't move.
That's good. Nothing like a man who can follow
the figures of beauty, fathom the fingers, the splaying
of light. Your hands are beautiful, smooth
and worn, firm and supple, a hint of moisture
glancing off the wet plucked eye suspended in the balance,
in the frame, and yes, I'm calling your name, seeking, seeking, speaking
from experience, from what I know you crave; so, come,
here, now. I know what you need and you know how good
it can feel, giving yourself over to the abandoning emptying
and to keep breathing, hot, like that, on the back of my neck. Man . . .
Did a dame ever have it so good, so easy, a place to worship,
a temple in which to slide moist lips and eloquent tongue narrating
a wordless world turning upsy-turvy placing these jewels
ever so gently between teeth, and time, and breathe,
hallelujah, breathe, breathe, breathe. Wild and wondrous
before this fragility of need and it's heavenly to kneel,
desire flickering defiantly among stilled shiftings of forever,
lovely so opened, awake in my mouth. And, you know,
it's the rhythm,
it's the glide and sway, it's you moving with me and I with you
tasting the sweet explosions spectacularly cascading
across the moon drifting slowly
out of this poem, this frame, this time, air porous
with inevitability, menace and caress held at bay, thighs tangling
in strands of the futureless future guttering
among shafts of light and yes, that's it and that's all.
it's here and it's now, now. Palest full moon in the window,
muted blue-grey shadows, smoke coiling within
variegated scintillae of light.
Just lie there.
Don't move.
That's good. Nothing like a man who can follow
the figures of beauty, fathom the fingers, the splaying
of light. Your hands are beautiful, smooth
and worn, firm and supple, a hint of moisture
glancing off the wet plucked eye suspended in the balance,
in the frame, and yes, I'm calling your name, seeking, seeking, speaking
from experience, from what I know you crave; so, come,
here, now. I know what you need and you know how good
it can feel, giving yourself over to the abandoning emptying
and to keep breathing, hot, like that, on the back of my neck. Man . . .
Did a dame ever have it so good, so easy, a place to worship,
a temple in which to slide moist lips and eloquent tongue narrating
a wordless world turning upsy-turvy placing these jewels
ever so gently between teeth, and time, and breathe,
hallelujah, breathe, breathe, breathe. Wild and wondrous
before this fragility of need and it's heavenly to kneel,
desire flickering defiantly among stilled shiftings of forever,
lovely so opened, awake in my mouth. And, you know,
it's the rhythm,
it's the glide and sway, it's you moving with me and I with you
tasting the sweet explosions spectacularly cascading
across the moon drifting slowly
out of this poem, this frame, this time, air porous
with inevitability, menace and caress held at bay, thighs tangling
in strands of the futureless future guttering
among shafts of light and yes, that's it and that's all.
- Judith Fitzgerald gives an interesting assemblage of notes to her poem on her website.
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