Drawing by Judith Wolfe
JUSTIN HEWITT

Two Poems


      Summer Breath

      How is it that a haze of summer can creep into your mind
      filled with the gentle buzzing of insects,
      coarse grained reclining and lazy lapping
      of tongue to dripping curves and dips
      where the last of the moisture finds freedom to dwell.

      Beneath the moving ocean skin can be seen
      to brush, fingers to clasp and grip,
      while abovee lips meet and move in an unceasing pursuit,
      until with a thrust and a twist the touch is broken
      - the longing is enforced and the perfectness of form
      flickers in pieces as oil upon glass.

      Through the flicker of an eye and beyond the step
      of those who hang above the liquid shore,
      can be viewed the beauty of birth,
      a slow languid emerging from the warmth of belonging
      accompanied by an entrance to a world of glare and brilliance .

      With a suddenness peculiar to the slow summer light
      music appears, curtains billow with the softest of breaths
      giving glimpses of feet that move upon a carpet
      of life absorbing the richness of youth through their soles.

      A quickly stolen kiss followed by a glance
      along outstretched arms barely touching at their tips,
      brings a meeting of forms, a melting of outlines
      and a blurring of features. As a breath full with
      the promise of love filters upon gentle skin it turns
      and spins and is gone beyond the curtains that live only for breath.

      Breatharian

      Within my breath lies the power to ignite
      flames of peace and flowers of destruction.
      Without of my body are the means of the sky to light
      the ground to swell, vigorous wrongs to write.
      Flicker fly impulses pass quickly through a mind:
      lifting, contracting, expelling, imagining
      what could be, how it is, myths to unwind,
      for that is the blessing and the curse of my kind
      Left to my own devices I spiral down to pits
      where dwell figures of the night hiding grimaces
      of pain behind wings of light, hell is not where the devil sits
      upon my soul the vilest crime he commits.
      A curse of sanity, reason and compassion he casts
      within my mind. Leaving me to feel all, see all
      while doing nothing but slowly reliving my many pasts
      trying to live the fullness of each moment while it lasts.


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