The night is old and still I am not sober
Sweet intoxication lingers on my lips
Bursting forth
To conquer oceans of alone

A look
And at once, a flame
Warmed that part
And pricked the layers most exposed
Filled my dreams
And banished thoughts which sought to chain my heart
To the rocks of vacillation

From glance to touch
The sequence retains no form nor function
The passage blurred
A convoluted series of frames shaded with desire
Laced with passion
Each an enigma
Each a mirage
Each an apparition

But I did not see
More felt you, as you moved
Your presence
Increasingly near, drew me in
And my perceived self
Iron filings
A million sharp and brittle fragments
Descended, with such alarming force
En masse
Determined to satiate desire

The kiss
Tender, it was not
My alarm
My hesitance, was
For one brief moment
Reflected in your eyes
Like the hover of a hummingbird
Before sweet nectar is all consumed
Then the dissolution of space
Between limbs
Between lips
Between reluctance

How long did passion last?
A minute …
An hour …
An evening …

Sweet intoxication lingers on my lips
Bursting forth to conquer oceans of alone
The night is old
And still
I am not sober

© Kacey Patrick 2013

‘The night has passed and still we are not sober.
In the garden of the heart the feast goes on.
The nightingale sings and the lover and beloved are entwined into one.’

Rumi (Quatrain 1257)
Translated by Maryam Mafi & Azima Melita Kolin