by Neal Koga
1.
These my lips
like haughty ripe virgins
like faithful young widows
remain reticent, no longer daring
to imagine or remember what good
might come of a kiss.
I wonder at their shyness,
at this reluctance, this proud aloofness,
for my heart will not be shy.
And all my senses reach toward you
and all that in me which might be perceived
longs to be perceived by you.
But these my lips falter.
Is it fear, or the last bastion
of renunciation?
Or are they the voice of prudence,
saying, Wait?
Courage, I tell them.
Patience, they tell me.
2.
Und was sagen jetzt diese,
meine Lippen?
Nun ahnen sie etwas Kostbares,
allmählich lernen sie wieder
die Berührung der Haut
einer Anderen
zu schätzen, zu geniessen.
Mir sagen sie mittlerweile,
Mut.
Dann muss ich ihnen erwidern,
Geduld.
Noch ein wenig zurückgehalten sind sie
und doch nicht mehr so zögerlich.
Das Leben der Lippen
wollen sie ja doch
voll und warm und zärtlich
erleben.
3.
Soft and still they rest together
in silence.
Like hand-palms joined in prayer.
The yearning contained here is this:
O my beloved,
I ask of you a kiss.
Just as in one moment my hands
come together in gratitude
for your grace and graciousness
and sweetness and beauty
and in the next moment join
in intimate embrace with your hands,
So is it with these my lips, fervent
and yet so still in their waiting
to join their prayer to yours.
And if this meeting never comes:
are not the yearning
and the stilling of this yearning
one and the same, with you?
Can I ever be dissatisfied?
And if our lips may touch
as our hands know to do,
if this simple supple supplication
finds answer upon these your lips--
And if your lips may touch...
4.
Your permission
to kiss you upon the lips
has removed all sense of urgency.
No longer do I believe
that what I want is what I need.
It is a love-letter
clutched to my breast;
with a calm knowing
of some secret contained therein.
I will not be hasty with the
inevitable,
will not rush one moment
of this
sweet
and
slow
unfolding.
5. Initiation
I see these lips of mine in the mirror
and I smile in wonderment,
in the recognition that these are not the lips I had before.
A change has been effected.
A silent benediction spoken by your lips
has been placed upon my mouth.
In the space of a day,
these my lips have become riper,
imparted with new life.
You and I have met
with closed eyes and open hearts
and mouths somewhere in between
(softly speaking their silent secret)
in the tender transmission
of a wisdom I cannot comprehend.
But I see these lips in the mirror
and there is a fullness
that was not there before.
I become reverently aware
of having been blessed.
6.
I must admit that I do
miss you
and still from this distance I do
kiss you
these words reach up to your eyes
and caress them
these the literary agents of my lips
wait upon the gentle touch
of your fingers
here
upon this page
you may even hear my whisper
at your ear
Cornelia...?
This is the question preceding
a statement which never comes.
“Hello, are you there, do you know that...?”
But of course you know,
there is no need to say.
Cornelia...?
Do you know that--
these words are my voice,
my whisper, my call
if you close your eyes,
there are my lips upon your lids.
This ink is the movement
of my hands, tracing a path
which is so natural to travel,
a path leading home.
This paper is the proxy of
my body, to be held in your hands,
to enjoy your eyes and fingers
as they touch its surface.
This is for now the space we share,
where our hands and eyes may meet,
rendezvous between the messenger
of my lips and tongue
and that you which so graciously
receives.
Cornelia...?
2. (TRANSLATION)
And what do they say now,
these my lips?
They have come to suspect
the presence of some precious thing;
gradually they learn again
to treasure, to enjoy
the touch of another’s skin.
Now it is they who tell me,
Courage.
Now it is I who must reply,
Patience.
Still a little reticent, yet
no longer quite so hesitant:
Now would they live the life
of lips, in fullness,
warmth
and tenderness.
NEAL KENJI KOGA currently lives on California's Point Reyes Peninsula and sometimes in the Black Forest of Germany. Neal works and plays as a cook, gardener and musician. Despite occasional publication in The God Particle, Neal advocates a "low-tech" approach and generally eschews most contact with computers. Neal can be reached at Post Office Box 593, Inverness, California, 94937.
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