One night in a time capsule

Lay me down in the wilderness,

and run your hands and mouth

everywhere on my naked body

that the moonlight illuminates,

melting like clarified butter

with the incredible heat

of renewed entwinement, congealing

in the coolness as we rest between

sessions. I imagine there is no

other rush than to assure we find a

space in this lifetime, to experiment

with a recipe that much more delicious

for having been prepared with

prohibited ingredients.

 

I would shout you from the rooftops,

but you fear your love for me

would be found out, so I say:

 

I will tell nobody.

I will not tell our story to the wind,

because the wind carries words

to listening ears. I will not confess

you to a stream, because streams

become rivers and rivers are captured

by oceans with waves that break

secrets upon rocky shorelines.

 

I will admit my time with you

by writing a letter to our granddaughter

and burying it in a time capsule.

It is my hope that 3 generations

from now, our story can be received

with more acceptance and grace;

the recipe of moonlight and DNA

recorded in the annals of the

family cookbook for our ancestors

to ponder for another thousand years.

 

 

Author's Note

for the man who wants to give me his DNA... but for circumstances, cannot

translated from my original in Spanish

photo courtesy of open source images online.