Image by shubhamshon on Pixabay

Chardonnay, and Woman to Woman

~we touch in echoes of pain-ardor ~

We’re all caught in our

own little weavings

she said,

the woman with blazing eyes.

We try to unmesh,

disentangle, reach out

but it’s like shouting

across canyons

arms and legs

clamped fast together,

pinned to rock-face.

Our dark music

echoes and resounds,

to be swallowed

into detritus of ages.

And that’s

how we touch each other

— in echoes of pain and ardor —

our cries roar,

meet briefly,

melange, then choke.

We metastasize

become hybrids of

glee & anguish,

A frozen confusion

carved on the crags of

newborn Alps, those

misshapen relationships

of Man & Woman.

Husband & Wife