Getting Kinky

eight inches of joy

four fingers

away from the source & that april---

coloured dawn

in the desert . . . where i'm drifting

out over the landscape of your sex

by choosing careful footing.

you are

six twitches away from absolute ecstasy.

doesn't it just make you cream

in your coffee---

morning's after are best

for

assessing the wreckage of your bare skin.

mirrors like the taste of hassled flesh

& suckled bone: too sudden; too often . . .

to my surprise i'm

itching to get at

where that scent comes from.

where the sea in you sleeps.

what is it about you that lingers

under my tongue for days?

that tests will against more comprehensible desire?

the taste of metal.

i want more.

written 4.9.99