Casual Acquaintenance

By Michele Fry © 1992

A casual affair, we’re warned,

never lasts for long,

but sometimes I’m drawn into things,

right or wrong, for . . . . .

 

I cannot help my finger reaching

out to touch your lip,

to trace across your cheek,

to stroke your hair.

 

My eyes, drawn into yours,

fall heavy with desire,

and yours, drawn into mine,

are candles’ fire.

 

At first I follow protocol.

You’re free to go or stay.

Averted eyes and small talk

give room to break away.

 

But soon I feel you bowing to

the aura of my touch.

Our hands entwine.  Your lips brush mine.

Such tenderness!  Too much!

 

Surroundings fade

to a distant wavy sea.

There’s nothing can deny our

strange familiarity.

 

The nearness of your shoulder

makes a tightness in my chest.

Your breathing, too, grows shallow

as you slightly trace my breast.

 

As calm, as sure as ever

anything can ever be,

I know that I want you

and you want me.

 

Your face, your form

accept all that I do.

The world is re-defined –

There’s me . . . . . and you.

 

Time stands still.  There’s just

our rhythm and our flow.

Our whole life is this moment –

there is no tomorrow.

 

My name?  What’s yours?  That’s nice to know.

I really like your name.

The truth is, though, that just now

any name would seem the same.

 

For a rushing heat is in my ear.

The lights are dim.  I can barely see.

My throat is tight.  So hush.  Just stay,

and fill yourself with me.

 

Each move I make, you mirror.

We’re of a single mind.

You’re never far ahead of me

or never far behind.

 

How can this be?  We’ve no experience

of each other’s love . . . . .

We are but grist for a higher cause –

our guidance from Above.

 

We are aware of just one thing:

a swirling, blinding trust.

At last, we are the Universe!

The Universe is us!

 

Such bonding is the reach of

ancient hands ‘cross vaulted skies,

A moment caught in memory

before dark clouds arise.

 

I play such love scenes now and then.

I’ve lived them once or twice.

Imagination amplifies

experiences so nice.

 

Whoever says a casual affair

never lasts, is wrong.

For let me tell you, from this chair,

such memories linger long.

Awakening

by Michele Fry ©1966


Lay down your wooly head, my child
Lay down your head an’ dream . . . . .
     O’birds an’ bees an’ butterflies, an’ traipsing ‘cross the seas.



Dream o’ dream enough for two,

Enough for you an’ me . . . . .
     For I am growing up an’ face a stark reality.

Except that might tomorrow please me
More than did today . . . . .
     I’d stay wrapped up in my cocoon and dream my life away.

I’d picture me as livin’ in a
Cottage by the sea . . . . .
     My true love close beside me and children on my knee.

I’d play my flute and paint and write,
And gather friends about me.
     My tables laid with fruit and wine, and flowers in the window.

And we’d not want for anything,
We’d be so full contented . . . . .
     The world would lose its harshness and all that I’ve resented.

I’ve wiled away my youth in such
Utopian fantasy . . . . .
     Not knowing for a moment that these schemes could never be.

But now I am awakening,
These dreams, they have no stem . . . . .
     Are simply mounted to the sky with naught for holding them.

For children do get hungry,
And someone pays the rent,
     And friends have other things to do when all the wine is spent.

And moon glow stirs my pulses
In a manner heretofore unknown . . . . .
     With arms up-spread, I join the realm of Goddess, mother, crone.

It takes no energy to dream
Just free imagination . . . . .
     T’was easy to mistake as real a child’s hallucination.

To overlook tha’ surge of power
Which serious challenges can bring . . . . .
     Blessed are the realities that force the beating wing.