Monday, November 29, 2010

sex lives

I've been told that there are savage young sons
who perch themselves upon the steeps
they've never felt any love, they've never felt any peace
and any who see them find themselves in chains
find themselves tied naked to an oak tree
where all the saintliness of the crucifix is wasted in the form
of one more drop of blood on the tip of my finger
so I dream a sentence that captures you and says
squeeze me like a stone bible - resilient
read the brail that bubbles up on my skin in white welts
hot and pulsing as the late evening light shawn down
in a quiet room forgotten by the eyelids of anyone
on a casket where I raise your nipples from the dead
this is like heat, this is like sparks, this is like fire
preaching like a rainbow in studded repose
with hymns of your gemstone teeth on my neck
a sunrise conducting fellatio on the horizon
greased and the stars split into pairs and hush
rub together like flint on steel - vibrating onward
those savage young sons don't understand
what makes the beast track a thousand miles
or kill in the orgasmic dance of violence
those savage young sons don't comprehend
that your thighs are the passage to the gate
and the gate will change your life

I grabbed her arms and pushed her on the bed
I was rough and I was unkind to her
her skirt slid over her knees
her tights split along the seam where I tore
she gasped and squeezed her breast
she ran her fingers through my hair
I bit the plump flesh of her labia
I flicked her clit with my tongue
and then there was nothing left
but sounds and scents and touch
nothing but eight limbs tangled
and a cry disposed to a soft reprise

s. sparling

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