Strawberry lips, answering to Sky
Father, maybe deeper inside; the inner God, seeking Nirvana, holding hands with
Invisibility. To ache for a person, to dream in a person, so cursed from unsaid
person; hours at converse, private a storm, loving me better than others can;
lusting for stars, a grievance to Holiness, asking about wilderness. Pleasant
pains, resistance pains, didn’t need what took form. Flowers upon sand drops,
knowing you’ll never understand, wild locks, neutral beginnings, to have adored
dirty nastiness; so much it was, so past-tense, so close in a given moment. Dancing,
bellies laughing, mourning how it ends. And resurrection, drifting into
intuition, accused of nonchalance—a great deal into meaning, what is sex, other
than a session? We were sold on hesitation, seduction, flailing flesh, baffled,
regathered inside, loving, for it hurts.
