Thomas Lowe Taylor -- AT BEACH

***************


1

What'd stopped at your heart
not another sign perhaps at
what'd stoppered heard out
not because spine wasn't in.

Belying the in within air, you held.
She sings to me without signs, at
sighing what's darker at the pale
or more intents do slow down this.

I'd held. But spore to link too fast
among slight strokers in her misting
the rounded, the platter in you spins.
Residual arcs, love's honor, to be pure.

2

I'd been here, too. Your fascinating underwear was stripped away,
newer fellows plunging hearts described as risk or at, but still the same
hearts woe woven willfully out at my own distances; looking out across
my pages between us something shining and wet just pulled from inside
you, which has my marks on it, as if it were me, pale pole rising out and
in again, would hold.

Kept aside us, there light arcs restore send
or at hold the blacker rooms decide out
what'll poke pasts enflame or orange to
'
touch you know, I'll speak her own rooms
In flashes art to become item was another meeting in the pages of
remind, or older feelings which once encapsulated or melted light and its
opposites), her smile was fixed in, to deeper arrows thruster palm,
coming slowly up, up into and being kind, you allow resting, or say
"again," uh, meaning "now," but huskers at the vine, or welling up within
substances (on hand) as reminder

3

At beach, no plainer songs revolve
and mark your heart your own
today, which calls her outside & light,
becalmed no other rings yr days

and nights, forded at the breech, an open
wave waving piner not which leaks
less milky dues or slipping, these are
the waving palms of night, spinning....

You've reflavored my heart, wherefore bland
or numb, now outer spoils to penetrated
light at sudden, hears her heart beating
and does not turn away. What mounted hand.

We'd scored wildly on the driving plain & simply
honored signs rewind what'rd spilt or chalk,
but river signing whomsoever, or you, to see
plus won will marker out a lot, say "pulling."

Or figure curling spoken, or fervor in the wand
beneath the skin, tongue tight and lining ferns
her won or due was willing at start & song,
a newer shine would pull across vast distances.

I'm spun. Are you my further day?
I'd huskered in, not wanting it.
Arc lines have opened. Your face.

nor remote. Lucks. Pealers floating
one on one is dancing, coming light,
unto bespoke what heals or firms

7.12.92