An introduction (propylon - questioning)
They are a corner
a meeting of bodies, of synapses
of fast fluid lines brought to a point
a site between posts
a simultaneous love of two people
shaped with bricks cement plaster adobe
washed shades of blush.
A sudden rush of blood to your cheeks.
Take my hand and run with me, out into the plains.
Are my insides different from yours
is my intention different
Do we not all ache for disruption, to be shaken by the earth
to hold each others scent between our painted fingers,
and dance in the fires we have lit.
What are my desires for you?
what are my desires for myself? and why do you call them ‘un-natural’?
how do we meet? do we shake hands, or genitals, or press our souls together hopefully
meeting our walls to assemble ramshackle buildings
holding tight against beatings.
Do we cling to each other in dark recesses,
beside the sludgey banks,
all the while ignoring ourselves as temporary
all caught by the same wave
what angle do I make
how do the tracks meet and where
is there bias?
do they lean and sag,
or find themselves crisp and polished.
direct arrows, orderly cleaving
love is a game for the generous
for the self less
I stand both on the ground and in the sky,
laughing gently at a joke I told myself years ago.
I wish to be swallowed,
to be taken in the heavenly mouth and pushed sweetly into the throat
to touch the shivering walls of primordial fathers gently with my shapes
the throat a propylon
gleaming temple entrance.
We hold both the desire to be bound and unbounded
the inside with the outside
both at ease and jostling red faced
finding comfort and arousal in the heat of friction
testing the water with my right hand,
the swing of testicles beneath viscose
Show me your inside.
towards liberation from
Drawing my own lines
despite fear and risk and
desire to be desired.
A polite gesture and crude subject
I’m sorry this seat is taken
This is my space my visibility my desire my need my existence my ego
a safety knife
a ladder in your stockings slowly unravelling on the bus,
a class c narcotic
a state of motion pushing in all directions
through the matted hairs on my thigh,
breezing up my skirt
along chattering city streets
hurtling down blackening tubes
and into the bent sightless line of obsidian ocean.
It doesn't look like a curve
but it is.
My eye cannot see it but I know that it is there, because you told me so. You showed me so. And I believe you.