late nights in asia.



Awake at four
with the old brain beating
its fast tattoo –
I want, I want –
I think of love,
of the hot scramble
of limbs in darkness;

of the mind
pulsing its secrets
in metaphor;
of synapses firing
need, longing, love;
of the body
with its midnight hungers;

of the mind
caught between dream and waking;
wondering what it is,
self-creating always;

of God,
whatever she is
asking the questions;
Who are you anyway,
and how did you get here,
and what is the distance
between two stars,
between two brain cells,
between two lovers?

Here in the rosy
pink-ringed dark
all the birds
are sentient in their own way
as we –
on the verge
of wakefulness
and song.

~ Erica Jong

1 Comment »

  1. very beautiful. and i love it in here.

    Comment by ella — December 15, 2009 @ 7:04 am

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