IF LIFE ITSELF IS ART

If life itself is art, then sexuality the paint brush.
Hibiscus above the ear of a Tahitian girl
Waves and particles of green apples in a bowl
The twisted scream of dark depression.
Golden sunflowers in a round clay pot

A peacock mimics the passion of desire
Glistening rivers run on opalescent thighs
Amber hands trace lay lines on arched backs
Emotions pierce through fog, in the bay of denial
A bridge of DNA strands sways in the wind.

There are so many ways to enter the earth
How she loves to see life grow upon her.
Cave paintings on rock skin, red horses
Leaping on wet stone, stalactites and stalagmites
Longing for each other, one drop at a time.
In the cave darkness stirs, wakes and creates
Below the rippling waves of desert sand.

After lightning sparks, strikes and splits
Hollow tree trunks grow a hundred limbs
Rustling leaves caress the warm breeze.
In the distance a donkey sobs again
This is the true sound of salvation.