Our Limbs Wrapped In God Poem by L.B. Temuco

Nobody ever asked the scent of the rose
To be other than it is, to be a sweet ache
To drip in fiery circumstance
To cover old feet with its perfumed tides
Nobody ever told of petals
That open their hungry coloured mouths
To the moon
That inside their moist cosmos, Every passion
The centre of the sun
Every desire a river, beneath existence
Nobody ever asked you to behave
Like cherry blossom in my soul
That in the fullness of your dark fatality
A fruit ripens and falls to the earth
Bled, bleeding, born,
Oh cave of this precious womb,
Sacred interstices, the luminous spaces where love hides
The rose was never asked
We walk through this garden endlessly
Our footprints, displacements
Of hearts that scream for each other
Craters, dark eyes that never open
Other than under the deep cloak
Of our silence, the stillness of the stone
In us still. We can never look away from this blindness
When we look, we see everything there is to see
As if it was rising out of water
Love spreading over the lip of our lips,
Fingers tapping on unpeeled skin,
A breeze from the evening sea
Gently stirring the curtains of forbiddance
We lay in a harvest of golden fields.
Our limbs wrapped in God.