The poetry pages I have sniffed.
The perfumed bliss of Flora
hymning natural philosophy
and dancing bedroom ballet flames with me.
She obliterates the monolith;
my obdurate monument to ardor undone.
I appeal with a strident, pitiable tongue
and her mouth becomes sadness
“Are you going to disappear?”
She watches my life expire
with the discomfiture of a musician
holding discord in her hands.
My swan song singer
pressing cacophonous me beneath her fingers.
excitedly betrayed
with Jadeite, smoldering and millennial-made,
through whose green
slow-dances wild orchard fires.
“What feature of mine do you like best?”
Everything recapitulatory.
The replica freckle above your right breast,
the areole landscape of ebbing lip-pinks,
the vertiginous heat of your pallid-sands skin
and the roseate negatives where my fingers dug in.
My lust and kissing you everywhere owing
to a simulacral spinal-chord response
to a familiar phrase our bodies are bowing.
Shadowy sex and atavistic amore.
