River of Rose

My boat floats on a river of rosé
colouring Sunday afternoon in this here
love-boom
with the warmth of a winter wine
cloaked in summer sunshine,
still chilled by the night wind,
transparent heavens and
anticipation
part their lips
together to welcome us
part the weather like a red sea
give this sky-canvas some clarity
droplets of rain-paint
two shades lighter than my wine
camouflage themselves among my freckles
and fine lines,
I do not brush them away,
would rather revel in their shape.

My heart beats to myriad of rhythms
call me a culture-less vulture,
guilty of misappropriation
but every living thing has a beat
and every living thing has a skin
though I did not ever make a drum of hide
my hands know how to synchronize
their words,
to punctuate their falling softly,
to trance mind into matterless particle
and brain into endless vibration,
it is the most curious sensation
to admire all human cultures
as divine works of art
rather than a starting point for stealing.

My eye is drawn
by particles of shared memory
sun captured through busted lens
refracts off experiential symmetry
attracts me to shiny things
bright energy expands
through my eyelids.
Someone planted
fourteen circular rainbows
directly in front of my iris
rubbing shoulders with a dust mote
to keep my eyes in focus
showing me the spectrum
of endless possibility
my lashes sit in lotus-like
contemplation
of all I left behind me,
of the beauty now in front of me.

My memory is a masterpiece
stuck between two shelves
depending on how I see it
there's both heaven and hell in my
basket
I swing your arms and laugh,
as though direction were the key
it's neither path less travelled nor
heavily-trod
but the values inside which fuel me.