You draw me to you, dreaming,
beckon me tenderly.

Tending toward home I go,
to the mother lode,
magneto spinning at center,
attending to breath,
intending to unite,
guided by whispers and tendrils of grace.

The blood in my veins and my
rich-blooded womb,
as red as the iron, the ocher in yours,
sings your songs to me,
makes me crave your company.

I prepare to meet you, greet you,
coloring my hair, hands, feet with henna,
core seeking molten core:
stoking the fire,
heating the ore,
compressing the passion.

Open to the intercoursing of breath, caress,
animated by instinctive elegance,
by consolidated essence,
the resonance of bellies,
your magnetic tenderness,

I settle into your embrace.

© Lisa Sarasohn 2013