imagine it like this...
                                                     cooking...
   a therapy session with
a knife in your hand...
second amendment therapy...
i will always tell you
if it's händel or not händel
on the ratio:
fellow traveller into english...
after a while you begin
to treat cutting meat with
more tenderness than,
                  say, an onion...
you go out for a walk into
the outer-suberbs
   and pet the cats your find
loitering on the street...
     and then visit your local
brothel, and for once,
just once...
         forget about having
genitals, listen to some
prokofiev with the woman...
and again imagine preparing
pork...
            and you're almost
touching a body like a ripe
flower bud, just waiting
to exfoliate...
               the even horizon...
the more experienced prostitutes?
they put cream onto their
genitals to imitate arousal...
but... when you attempt to
ask the gates of hades' clench
of the teeth...
   you can sometimes not
even find a tongue behind
the ivory doors...
               a variant of oral ***,
or rather:
      eating out the oral
              she gave to other men...
i really can't stress the immediate
eroticism of Bronzino's:
                    folly of time...
the tongue of cupid like a woman's
******...
    and venus' eyes like
        the mouth of a new born babe...
or the other variant of
        the kaleidoscope...
movies?
              ******* what?
        i paid for the hour i can allow
myself to extend the meditation...
on eating four phalluses and
investigating with my own
trojan tongue into her experiences,
none of which i will know,
other than the one i had with her...
but what can, say, 20 hours of
"therapy" do to person (a)
revealing all their personal details,
while person (b) revealing
none of theirs?
              at least with food
i reveal to the products that they
require modification,
  the foods reveal their raw
imperfection,
    not revealing the amounts
of salt, pepper, spices and other
ingredients necessary for
composition into edible...
    but it is never a theft of a kiss
from a ******* though,
but... i am sure that once trojan
passes through gates of hades
with what Charon on the odd
occassion gives back...
             *** with Helen herself
in the underworld...
         the creaming-up of genitals
doesn't happen...
albeit the conundrum of
some of them vowing:
   to never kiss a man on the lips,
like some hollywood cliche
mantra...
               because what
other transactions exist between
men and women that
might be deemed righteous,
and this, the most basic, primitive,
rather ancient: so odious?
               imagine it like this...
                                              cooking...
   a therapy session with
a knife in your hand...
               meat attaches itself and
becomes my own tenderness
of index circling on the tip of
the thumb, slowly moving down
the stem to the base,
                    and then up...
after cooking enough meat,
and notably having had the chance
to feed fish eyes to eager cats...
you build up a taste for
looking into living almost tearful
mosaic glass...
                because the mere crudeness
of exchanging genitals
for an hour's worth could never
become, sharing closed eyes,
opening eyes, kissing,
   the kundera bluff of whether
kissing with eyes open,
or whether with eyes closed...
the leech sensation of lips speaking:
siamese kiss...
                   thanatos and hypnos:
perfected in true form
   with Moloch being overcome
and ancient child sacrifices being
given... less than the firey basin
                  gut...
come to think of it...
   i paid to be allowed to take my clothes
off and she exchanged
   my payment by allowing
herself to do likewise...
             point being...
     she didn't exactly put a ******
on my lips and tongue...
     as she would have, on my phallus...
ha ha... oh right...
         that was the punchline.