At times your greatest pleasure will be had not of your choosing. It will come to lie somewhere in the moment you lose yourself in the hazy maze brought about by being held, folded and taken in the spectacle of another squeezing the very last scented and precious drop of you.

 

 

[we are all a whoosh on a beach]

here, swordfishes become goats
here, on eyelashes grow spaceships

here, we fall rustified and sun slain

before, rising from the miasmic marshes of life

    as a labyrinth of veins and muscles

 

All of life rides gently upstream
tipping from side     to                     side

our senses broken by the twangs of strings reverberated

 

Fuck being followed
everything in life out here tastes of salt. expanded. minuscule and transient

I want to know love. not gently. but with a force that kills

kokoko kokokokokok   oko

dance wildly outstretched, retched
jumble and mumble tonight, don’t fumble

 

 

I want my nose to become my ears. my ears to become my tail. My tongue the shoreline of Anafi. To lick the world and smell its scented arse.

 

 

[a million million drops]

twilight is strong. It tussles with

the day that came and the nights that
now stand on the doorsteps of
shadows

suck everything into your lungs, eyes, nose holes and become fertile

 

Forever our minds will play
we will be petroleum blacks and blue-greens festoon Velcro-tight

to lie on somnolent beaches and listen to greekwaiian music

to swallow fire and soda streams, pebbles and the compost of the damned

 

 

pregnant we come and pregnant we leave. filtered. whispered and shattered.

 

 

I want to reach down, deep, into your centre. To remove from you, your name, your history, your language, your past and your future and with the intensity of birth inhale you until you are a freckle in the galaxy of every ocean floor

 

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I will strip you and lick you in places you hadn’t known. Places that lay silently neglected for eternity

when I see you

for the first
time.

I don’t want to say
anything polite. I prefer not
to speak. In our
language
there is no technology

to conceive

of where I want to

take you.
To bring you

to the
edge of your being
and,
rattle your insides.
Where colours disappear,
where silence is audible,
where you taste of
the sweat
of a
thousand
scents.

I want to
swallow
you up.

 

We are raw swabs on life. Angled, scratched and remade into
quarks {cry, shudder, wee and no longer see}                                                                                       I’ll rest on your nipples tonight but you won’t notice.

Dry thorns of lemon myrtle.

Roots of ancient shrubs reveal the shapeless forms of night.

They all overlap between a time, mind and a narrow path.

Goodnight.