All (be)comes from Ash

Atoms vibrate and glimmer
through rainbow breath, while
upon gossamer wings of brilliant hues
and the melody of predestination
my Beloved whispered
of me

and beads of moisture mix with clay
exhale dreams unreeling
upon skies of ageless song

as stories yet scribed
on stone (they) sit firmly,
washed pure by robes of the River Kawthar,
each fibered drop cleansing
me.

 

(c) A Hannan

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Meeting Places III

Apprehensive, as icy chills swept across my skin,
snow under my stiletto boots grey and dusty from traffic
making me think back to sun, sand, surf and bronzed breasts
while I reached through the cold, french tipped fingers biting
at the brisk air to ring the doorbell, listening as an irascible reply
bellowed like thunder, rolling along walls in ripples
until it finally trickled to a haunting whisper announcing my arrival.
I could feel him on the other side of the door,
almost hear the slow smooth rhythm of his heart, beat
like wave on sand tugging at a year of planetary movements,
sun rotation slipping across my cherry coloured smile.
The door peeled back on it’s hinges like he had parted the waters
of Babylon and I feel into his arms like a leaf plucked and caught up in a draft,
left to drape around a pole of steal and resolve.
He warmed to my touch, grasping me with a smiling,
holding me there, our heartbeats meeting in a moment of calm
as our breaths chased one another, finally succumbing to each other, abated.
He ran his lips slowly down my neck, lingering along the line of my shoulder
like a wine connoisseur savoring the delicacy of vintage grapes,
filling his nostrils with the scent of 30 years of loving him.
His lips reached back to my ear whispering something,
just below audible, foreign tongue catching on my lungs
like the rich succulent tobacco from my argille,
sweet, arousing, suffocating me. I’m speechless. We paused
there on the threshold of eternity as one thousand lifetimes slipped
between us, building a bridge to hold us to infinity.

I turn to my girl friend, laughing as I notice the expression
touching at her soft hibiscus pink lips.
well, that’s how I image it, that first meeting
…when I let my mind escape

 

 

 

 

(c) A Hannan

Meeting Places II

 

Meeting Places II

I tapped my fire engine red nails on the cheeks of white porcelain,
my coffee steaming in incense spirals from it’s lip
like offerings sprawled at the chiseled stone feet of a statue.
The warmth as I cupped my hands around the waist
seeping through me… like the hungry womb
begging to be filled, consumed, placated.
He sat a couple of tables from me.
Nothing auspicious about the clothes draped from his tall frame,
a surprisingly serene expression painted on his face
as the world bustled around him,
chairs squealing at the pavement
as people came and went,
time slipping past as coffee sips drew on yesterday morning.
He ordered another coffee as the waitress passed,
taking a moment to scan the streetscape,
barely noticing the two pretty girls
seated at the table next to him, long tanned legs
lazily leaning towards him, their flirty giggles touching
his cheek like butterfly kisses. I noticed
the fluidity of his fingers as he rolled a cigarette,
sure, calm, knowing, suspended.
He placed the cigarette in his full lips and lit it.
Again, smoke spiraled like incense offerings.
My mind slipped to the stroking of flesh,
the hunger those fingers could draw
from my aching breasts, awakening something within me,
confusing the senses at the ease at which they would separate
the petals of my flower and touch of it’s moisture.
I imagined them touching every uncharted recess of my body,
playing my passion with the cunning of a beast,
tracing the lines with confident brushstrokes
then shifting in waves, pressing firmly
into my tender naked flesh, kneading it until it submitted
to his will before drawing it into his mouth
biting, licking, kissing, consuming me
like a piece of ripened fruit, my hunger rising like a madness
until I was starved of breath, throbbing
the scent of my salty honey spilling on soft thighs.
Jolted back to reality as someone reached for my sugar jar
knocking a spoon that clattered to the ground unceremoniously,
I noticed he had risen to meet the hand of
a beautiful young woman. Her smile
drowning out the drum n bass of
traffic and idle nothingness chatter.
His fingers tracing the lines of her face,
noses touching as they paused there, the world shuffling by,
their breath becoming one. Like watercolours spilled upon the page
their fingertips meet, moments passing like winter sun
edging over a frozen lake, then slowly,
ever so slowly fingers tangled together like the roots of an old tree.
I took a sip of bathwater warm coffee and wondered what that felt like.

(c) A Hannan

Meeting Places

I watched the clamour of busy footed traffic
upon weary sleep laid eyes,
smudged liner and heavy mascara blocking out a week of
sleepless nights and coffee roasted morning charm,
the casual scent of soaps over lilac body washes sticking to my nose.
I thought back to countryside eves
where cricket orchestras’ lulled the moon
and orange blossom sifted through the window
lifting my sheets to dreamscapes of he and I painted by Monet.
Someone pushed past me at breakneck speed.
I stumbled on toothpick heels to catch my face, brought back to
the occasional breeze of something tantalising…
the audacious and complex notes of Rochas over testosterone ties or
Mademoiselle upon cherry lips.
The airport terminal hummed with bird like twitters of
yesterdays and tomorrows, bags in multiples of colours
coursing lines like Chinese dragons,
separating tears on warm forever embraces.
I noticed her first.
A nervous busying of delicate French tipped fingers,
layers over a cool confident exterior of breezy tussled curls.
Well chosen notes of Miles Davis,
David Brubeck, Sinatra and Chanel covering her
from head to pearl dipped toes, the light sheen of gloss on full lips,
the anxious searching of dark velvet eyes over a sea of heads,
and those legs… my God, those legs!!
Then she smiled.
Her lips parting like the soft silken petals of a rose,
her large almond shaped eyes fixed like a gazelle.
He walked towards her, desperate hands
sliding up her thighs, taking her round ass, firmly
lifting her… raising her from the floor
as his full wanting lips touched her petals.
I turned away,
feeling somewhat like a voyeur at this point,
nearly smashing into a heavyset woman pushing a trolley
of precariously piled suitcases in one hand
and dragging a restless child in the other.
I couldn’t help but ponder and greedily devour
the delicious textures and flavours of
poetry in motion…

 

 
(c) A Hannan