Poetry for Calvin Klein Provocations

All to me.  Against time. Against the world.  Waveless, effortless, lawless.

In media res shall we begin, where battles neither won nor lost -
Surrender to a feel, and fall, til we no longer care the cost.

Reject the consequence.  No discipline.  Madness blooms.

As if there were a lesson to be leaned on, physics of a longing -
Whose pulse be steady, amplitude inflect, uncharted want prolonging.

I writhe where time slows, reel forever from your scent, unsure of breath -
I wonder how the moon will tangle for a pulse before its death.  

Currents drift.  We glide.

Industrial encounter at the edge of want, and fierce, and dust -
Stay put, love - the cacophony of heat abates as metals rust.

They say it is a conversation that I want, and that is all -
I never think about their naïveté, as you come gnarl and scrawl.  

Into the darkness we travel.  Vanishing bends.  Impulsive, careless, rapt.  

So this is what we come to - what Picasso rendered de la mer -
Entangled lovers at the edge, and salt wash fragments everywhere.  

Whoever shall distinguish which - Are we far off, who recollect,
Or are we here, imagining incendiary want reflect?

There is a style to how we may comport - no matter parallax,
There is no questioning the planes we cross for fashion to a max. 

Quiet behind my eyes.  Thoughts astray.  We fall into this.  Like convection I rise.  You scream through me.  Explode to the sky.

Perhaps dear Newton would be pleased to find an equilibrium -
What shatters outwardly, we pull inside an arc where passions come.

Radiates, implodes.  

As long as style defines what look we seek, and feel we brood about -
Let heat convect, let nova be the love we make, let heavens pout.

My eyes onto yours.  Erratic steps.

No matter vast the limestone of geometry, we find each other -
Oh, for a scent, love, run down you, along a slope onto forever.

We stand in contrast to man.  

For always there is no escaping you, no moment that is sacred -
Your scent my oxygen, your fingertips my feel, my want upbraided.

I take up childhood play, as if I knew no better of a flame -
For curiosity is mine, no matter what is in a name.  

Life of adoration.

So dawn creeps in, glides up, and tangles salt wash air and limestone wall -
The aftermath is always languorous, and love is at a fall.

Poetry for Calvin Klein Provocations © Ron Villejo