Her kiss is the cool of the evening
Her belly arches from horizon to horizon
Tiny fragments of diamond and silver strewn
In constellations of velvet jet flesh
Her kiss does not deny the Day
Nor the many wonders of Light
Her kiss fills my thirsty mouth with moon wines
Her kiss zephyrs my sun drenched brow
I lean into the twilight skyline
She lifts me from my heavy feet
Lifts me over and above the Euclidean house boxes
Where men and women disassemble themselves
I lean into Her dream stream and become all fuzzy
Relinquishing all pretense of control
I release the moment so that I may know it
In her gentle embrace
I touch and become the stuff of Dreams
chyfrin 
Become all fuzzy. Still one of my favorite thoughts of yours. You are the poet who finds the words for the feelings we take for granted, the ones we love and cherish, the ones that burn as alcohol to a wound. The destroying arrow caught one minute too soon, the healing chi pinned to your breast and wraps you in their arms in dying breath. You are the poet which names and in so naming, defines pasts and presents. A current an electrical line pulsing forward and back in recognition of truth epiphany. A hum in my center through my future inextricably DNA. You are the Poet who names and in so naming defined defines defining what fuzzy means to me.
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somedays, nowadays i get a little too fuzzy, then i work circuits problems – dancing in the arms of algebra as well as poetry
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