I want you to taste me
and smell me,
touch me,
want to be palpable,
to get under your skin,
to be an itch in your brain
and in your guts
that you can't scratch out
and that you can't allay,
that will corrupt and destroy you
and drive you mad.
Watch me doing it,
and remember your hands have blood
on them,
don't shout about,
don't think you're going to get away
with it,
don't make excuses.
Remember -
there's not much time left,
the flood and the fire are upon us,
the dance begins,
ants underneath fingertips,
tongues beginning to pulse,
heartache and mental flegm.
Out of step, we are
and out of key,
each their own tempo and rhythm.
Slowly, connexions
lip to lip,
heart to heart,
finding self in other,
dreadfully, tentatively, burningly...
Notes finding themselves in chords,
chords in sequence,
cacophony turning to polyphonous
contrapuntal chorus,
a diapason of orgasm -
librating waves of fluent highs
and lows of mouths and nipples,
fingers, spines, thighs, laughing,
intertwining,
intermingling,
fusing and copulating -
somewhere touched,
an ultimate joy and gladness,
lovely lightful life
diffusing an ever newer fiercer
freshness.
Don't panic.
Impossible to go above or beneath,
to run away,
to get round to left or right.
Tidal wave, tsunami of senses
moving at speed of light.
Let be and penetrate me,
like a flame with iridescent flares
in the fleshy sky of darkness,
a just still feasible tact,
if I could turn you on,
if I could drive you
out of your wretched mind,
if I could tell you
I would let you know.
UNCOILING SPIRAL
