A Memory (Without Regret)

Particles of the air you breathed,

all that now remains.

Caught in sunlight, filtered down,

and rendered into dust;

faded red lipstick stains, 

the record of your lust.

---

Shavuot

Long have I counted the weeks, o love,

Long have I waited to greet you.

Flowers adorn the walls of my heart, o love,

Bikkurim laid out for your joy.

I will wait no longer for this long night, o love,

I will wait no longer to know you.

Tonight I am yours to take,

Tonight I am yours to command,

Tonight I renew myself in your gift,

My heart hungers and eyes thirst, o love,

Only the text of your body can sate me.

Your face lit by candles, may I see through your veil

And open you wide before me to devour,

Milk and sweet honey on my tongue.

Let your being envelope me, o love,

Shuckling for knowledge of you,

Shuckling in devotion to you,

Moving to delve deeper into your mysteries,

Rocking to bring my lips closer to your breath.

In this rhythm I search you,

In this rhythm I know rapture,

In this rhythm I come to you

And tremble before the spirit of the Mount.

Let there be a counting of your graces,

Let there be a numbering of your blessings—

Call out each one and feel its heat,

Name each one as it shakes you,

Feel each mitzvah radiate inside

Until we are one, we are one, o love, o my love

Ameyn.

---

---

Biography

MB Thorne reads and writes poetry when he “ought” to be doing any number of other things. His work appears in a number of publications, including a previous edition of The Erozine.