One kiss One
When you're in me, the end has already passed.
The afterlife is the time of you-in-me.
The moment of invitation is impossible to remember, but I'm sure it occurs, every and each time. I'm sure it's not an invasion, not you breaking into me, not you entering me against my own desire.
I do know, that while we speak, or eat, or read together, and should you lean to me, to kiss me - as you've done in every season of the year, in every hour of the world's time - I am not, at that moment, receiving you. I'm not open. And then, perhaps, the kiss will linger. Our kiss. And become not a kiss among equals but an eruption of force, a weather change, the moment just before the setting out on a hike into snow and night and the need for fire. And I will linger there, I will linger there, feeling the departure into this impending chaos, and as I clutch you, squeeze your strong back, knead your shoulderblades, trace your beard with my palm - I am hanging on to you, to remain where we are, and to not be sent out on the road again. Clutching to the road itself - you. Embracing the weather itself - you. Demanding the world turn into the wind of space without me.
And a chaos of letters, a kind of typographic earthquake occurs.
And then I'm drawing you in me, pulling you in, watching your cock as it drives and retreats feeling it in someplace like a neck that's behind my heart. I watch your chest. I watch the vein in your forehead thicken and vanish and rise again. I close my eyes and the movement of you in me becomes a rhythm that people begin to speak in, people that walk through me as I feel you. They talk to one another, following the rhythm of your cock's rhythm. In a way the entire watery air they move in pulses with your drive. I see excitement build in their faces, an excitement of children, almost, who've heard of something coming that is too fantastic to believe, and that has been wanted since they can remember want. The arrival of childlike thrill distorts these adults' (always adults) faces into a kind of whorling of teeth and lips and bright ignited eyes that run like lava. Static starts to fall from the sky, from the antenna of your cock, probably. I feel my lips trying to chew you into me and hold you there, at the same time throwing you out to pull you in harder. And then, something turns, again. And I take you like a hammer in my hands and make another attempt at demolishing myself, with you. Try to pulverize the stone of my body into a dust that aches. Pound. Hit and pound and hit. A redline of searing heat like a hot needle in my neck, and then my belly shearing open into an eyesocket of light and blood and my teeth growing longer by inches, the people who've arrived all've gone now, there's no one now, now. And from behind where they are not I hear your throat start to tear into scrap, into metal, metal shard being driven into dirt. You blaze a kind of backwards heat and I hear it strike my starless dark mind. Break Me I hear myself say, after. Break Me. Over and over again hearing it. Break Me Break Me Break Me Break Me Break Me
Uncoupling like dogs I feel us on the other side again, the kiss among equals signs our return.
You wear that ring on your finger, as I do. And inside that, in it, through it, through its empty hoop, we pass back and forth, through these worlds, worlds that constantly end.
The afterlife is the time of you-in-me.
The moment of invitation is impossible to remember, but I'm sure it occurs, every and each time. I'm sure it's not an invasion, not you breaking into me, not you entering me against my own desire.
I do know, that while we speak, or eat, or read together, and should you lean to me, to kiss me - as you've done in every season of the year, in every hour of the world's time - I am not, at that moment, receiving you. I'm not open. And then, perhaps, the kiss will linger. Our kiss. And become not a kiss among equals but an eruption of force, a weather change, the moment just before the setting out on a hike into snow and night and the need for fire. And I will linger there, I will linger there, feeling the departure into this impending chaos, and as I clutch you, squeeze your strong back, knead your shoulderblades, trace your beard with my palm - I am hanging on to you, to remain where we are, and to not be sent out on the road again. Clutching to the road itself - you. Embracing the weather itself - you. Demanding the world turn into the wind of space without me.
And a chaos of letters, a kind of typographic earthquake occurs.
And then I'm drawing you in me, pulling you in, watching your cock as it drives and retreats feeling it in someplace like a neck that's behind my heart. I watch your chest. I watch the vein in your forehead thicken and vanish and rise again. I close my eyes and the movement of you in me becomes a rhythm that people begin to speak in, people that walk through me as I feel you. They talk to one another, following the rhythm of your cock's rhythm. In a way the entire watery air they move in pulses with your drive. I see excitement build in their faces, an excitement of children, almost, who've heard of something coming that is too fantastic to believe, and that has been wanted since they can remember want. The arrival of childlike thrill distorts these adults' (always adults) faces into a kind of whorling of teeth and lips and bright ignited eyes that run like lava. Static starts to fall from the sky, from the antenna of your cock, probably. I feel my lips trying to chew you into me and hold you there, at the same time throwing you out to pull you in harder. And then, something turns, again. And I take you like a hammer in my hands and make another attempt at demolishing myself, with you. Try to pulverize the stone of my body into a dust that aches. Pound. Hit and pound and hit. A redline of searing heat like a hot needle in my neck, and then my belly shearing open into an eyesocket of light and blood and my teeth growing longer by inches, the people who've arrived all've gone now, there's no one now, now. And from behind where they are not I hear your throat start to tear into scrap, into metal, metal shard being driven into dirt. You blaze a kind of backwards heat and I hear it strike my starless dark mind. Break Me I hear myself say, after. Break Me. Over and over again hearing it. Break Me Break Me Break Me Break Me Break Me
Uncoupling like dogs I feel us on the other side again, the kiss among equals signs our return.
You wear that ring on your finger, as I do. And inside that, in it, through it, through its empty hoop, we pass back and forth, through these worlds, worlds that constantly end.
posted by J. Neptune at 3:14 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home