Moondiver
Some albums cannot be just listened to—they possess you.
Breath came burned
In vinyl and synth—
Moonlight soaked in brass,
Water spooled into rhythm.
Van swayed in oozing
Sensuality and longing:
All hips and hush,
Kisses through candlelight,
A howl in a linen shirt.
Teaching to taste
The pulse between songs—
That longing voice of passion
That the rhythm feels
Just before it spills.
The waxing power of the album
Building a flood behind the
Dam of restraint.
On those luscious heels,
Winwood came—
Dealer in want and desire—
Pulling the hearer’s heart down
To where want becomes adoration
And bestowing powers of levitation.
“While You See a Chance”
Played like a whisper
In the cathedral of my soul,
“Spanish Dancer”
Undressed me with phantom hips.
I closed my eyes,
and every note
was her in the night—
Garbed only in starlight,
Astral radiance, and skin,
in salt,
in silence.
Creature of power and beauty.
A map of graceful moves,
And all her secret chords—
How ache burns,
And creates the arc.
Reciprocal
Hands and hips,
With the groan of my chair
As I leaned into the stereo,
And let the song
Turn me to fever.
Come swift celestial spirit—
Not just to play the record,
But to spin me.
To drop the needle
At the softest part of our throats,
And listen to the unraveling.
#poetry #reflection #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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