Hot Eye in India Ink


Hot eye

etched in india ink

pierces deep my soul

his penetrative gaze

a million-lightyear gape

in sepia too

a cuttlefish

old lined ink

swings forth the door, my love

draws open a sash

his key unlocks

surprising love

surpasses objective reality

Did I dream or am I awake

to the flame

to the remembrance of

this sovereign flickering, this sway

a golden flame

lit at the core of his iris aglow

a hall of sparks combusting

a glittering ball turns deep in this rolling

swell of heat

his searing corona

rises curvilinear lines all fire aglow

blowing amber sweet soft amorous winds

amber sweet soft amber lines of new angsyne

glimmering warmth igniting my own hearth my own eye

in the merging of our shining circumferance

we burst forth fully efacing in laps of leaping red orange

golden flame emblazoning

grazing all time and space resistance

my reality overtakes me beyond all limits

I go lioning galloping leaping into the flaming neumenal

past, present, future sparks

always happening now, my love

merged as timeless eternity

amber’s timeless

heavenly grace

blossom in perpetual dance

forever sending

all of our timeless scent of burning love

lotus, rose, jasmine, sandalwood, musk

glinting aroma forever moving as us

the sweltering core of the torching core

of the blistering central sun

crysanthemum, lotus, rose

poppy blooms scorching heat in summer’s forever love

terracotta springs forth

chalice forever glows with

wine forever flowing

violet blue streaming

quenches bacchus’ thirst

that bacchus never got thirsty

our eyes drink of the juice pressing

from ripest grape and berry

bird forever soaring together

as one firing heart

as one

wing of a dove

two birds in one love

firehearth on firey

wings of a southwest wind

embrace in a starburst flame

a true soul communion

not keats’ poor lovers who never

reach a quiver nor

touch of a white feather

flight of flesh of the eagle’s breasted love

frozen in time, they yearn for the past or what is worse

what may never come

let keats’ lovers teach us

while they remain forever yearning

destined to remain plastered always outstretching

towards something, a union

unconsecrated love

always striving to meet without the greet

of conjugal bliss

unconsummated love

forever bound by the grand scheme

the artist oversoul of all artist eyes

scrying eye of horus lining them to live as a mere sculpture

all good things end at the beginning and rebirth anew, my love

plaster of paris is made to break open, my dove

I am a newborn baby

ensconced in your gazing

I am a newborn babe

like a soft blooming your palm

open in the opening eye

open in the searing heat of your sun

Eye bursting forth




sunlight shimmers

gold lining spray upon spray

star bursting

ecstasy glitters

in the elesium field

of our palm

tantric bliss

a torrid kiss

egg shell open in the raise of your eye

meeting myne at last

hot iris steeps in our india ink.


Michelle Dorris, copyright 2017