Poem : Anais Nin

Oh Anais
I still hear the sound of your voice calling through the backstreets of Paris
Your words of desire spelled out the complexity of being lost
Lost somewhere between Henry and June
Smeared lovingly there
Like perfume between two wrists of hands bent backwards
Intoxicating are your aroma of words
For your thoughts did wander
Along with your touch
The softest touch your hands did give
Like a violinist, a violinist of love
Dragging her bow over the heartstrings of need with the utmost perfection
Making the instrument moan in the wee hours of morning
Playing each note with the press of a finger
The sound of feelings flowed in the night
Through the dark shadowed streets of Paris
You embraced the inside of your soul as much as the outside of your body
For looks fade and tarnish while the soul grows wiser
Diaries of your soul awash with your craving to live life as you saw it
The wanting of Henry but the needing of June
Was your thirst, your appetite
Stripped down and bent backwards
Two legs wound into one another as much as two minds
Connected so strongly Anais and Henry, two writers pushing their pens late in the night
Like a river of words drenched in desire
Sensuality you embodied
A lost land few ever truly see in a lifetime of living
Beauty made up your very being
No concept of time, of money, greed, of belonging to the boring
Ms. Nin your work will transcend the standards of writing for centuries to come　


Published at The Camel Saloon 10-9-11