Koni’s Song

by Al Preciado
copyright 2009
.
.
I claim no ownership over the country hood of women
Save one
This new terrain of she.  Her unfolding, fresh continent
of possibilities, land I want to discover with floods of wanting
overwhelming her flowers, her apricot orchards, her Midwest cornfields
She is not a dream like so many others, but blood, bones
Her chemical soul captivates, compels
I am an immigrant standing cautious, pensive outside the walls
encircling the bright city of her heart  At the border, her smiles flicker
like streetlights, beckoning, bending, pushing me down beaten path
of redemption , salvation, down the freeways that grid California, over
the golden hills, the white windmills rotating the velvet breeze calling
like her  touch, her honey caress
I always believed that a new love would hammer me like an
earthquake Crash into me a tidal wave, spin me like a flock of seagulls
shaped  like a tornado, or burn me like the late afternoon torch of
the  Mojave sun
But it enters the new territory of us on padded feet
A mouse whispering past a cat
Ant creeping across the pillow
Or the Tule fog rolling across the Central Valley sublime
This new nation of she enters not like a jackhammer
But like a soft kiss on the neck in the middle of the shade on
an island of bliss, her kisses falling like Jacaranda blossoms
and her eyes a tangerine sunset  of warmth


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