Way Out

Our love brings us to a mythical place,
Both of us opened our third eye
For the first time: it’s all so strange –
Your mind is playing in images,
And you see me the same.
We are speechless
But clairvoyant.
We kiss with lips locking, minds blending,
I fear that which
You will see in me, for your mind
Is pure love and breathless peaks.
Mine though is ugly with the scars
Of violence and rage,
Once again I fear repulsing you.
Laughing, you turn me over and spank me.
The redwoods sough in the wind,
“This,” I say, “is the breath of God.”

Keeping that third eye open is work,
We lay upon the warm sand nude to the Sun,
And after a brief nap we stand
In the heaving surf
And let it knock us all around,
How uterine it all is.
Splashing water on my face
“You!” you say, “are such a dreamer!”
“I’d dream forever with you,” I reply.
“This is about more than romance,” you say,
“Have you seen my cervix?
It’s the center of the world,
Throbbing with the life of the Earth,
Ready to replace all human life,
Given someone like you to help.”
“You don’t call this Romantic?”
You say, “I call it Life, ever expanding,
Ever growing, ever dying, ever fertile,
Omnipresent and containing
All things at once.”
I can’t dispute that.
Your long red witch’s hair
Is fingering the wind,
I can’t believe all I see,
It’s enough to know
You are here.


Gawaine Ross is a Boston poet and a retired nurse. He’s written several volumes of poetry, three novels and about a dozen short stories. He has been published in a number of online journals and four print journals, Think!, the Susquehanna Review, Tales of the Talisman, and the Chickasaw Plum.