For a Platonic Lover

A poem by Madhuri

No moon tonight
but stars, sparkling in their billions,
spread over the black sky
between angled pyramids.

Down by the water the swan,
still grey with youth,
tucks his head into his wing.
The undersides of leaves
are illumined
from one light nearby. I wish
all were dark except for stars –

I wish
much, but wishes fly
out of me, taking me
out.
You must be flying now,
one star up there
moving towards Bangkok.

I’m inhaling that star:
You ride back on the breath
through me,
taking up residence
in some Samurai reservoir
deep within my inner man.
This is necessary now.
The whole balloon of night
re-inflates inside me.
Heartache, and my small steps
walk beside me.

What have I opened here,
this Pandora’s box of stars?
I go all hazy remembering
moonlight cloaking us,
my legs tight around you,
your hara’s fire burning
upwards, always upwards
into your good chimney.
I’m pressed against you,
at my back the vines of night,
at my side, bright water.
Watching the breathing
coming and going,
watching the Force laugh to itself
as it moves. All clothed,
we were naked;
all moonlit
we were dark
like mulberries;
all dark, we were blazing
midnight light.

You were giving me gardens,
swans, fish and rocking oceans,
huge trees, stones which move.
You were giving me
eyes I need hardly look into,
for sight is all over your body,
inside as outside,
covering everything. What delight then
to close them
pretend we are blind, so that
we have to feel everything
pressed, pressed up together.
Your hara burns me.
Sometimes I have to make a small sound
as we settle again
like fish in the sand
wrapped, and wrapped around.