We step away and then,
you close the door
(you always knew how to close)
The palm of your hand (I)
shut(s) my eyes
and I imagine you must be thinking
that my head is spinning
only, it’s not.
I’m tired this time around
and all that we’ve had,
in cups, in pantomimes,
in black bottles at the back
of your grandfather’s closet,
is beginning to weigh me down.
I am an anchor
lightly kissing
the bottom of an abyss
in a sea.
But you don’t swim
and I know you never will.
No, my head isn’t spinning,
but the world is.
Before, I thought it ceased
to halt when I found myself
alone with you
in that enclosure
I craved from the back
of my throat.
I was possessive of your presence
without good reason.
Never had any good reason
and here again, I’m without it
but I no longer allow myself
the delusion of believing
in the immortal exceptionalism
that I once painted
on your face.
The auto-intoxication has stopped.
We step away and you engage
my mouth once more.
It has never been the way
I’ve wanted.
I gave you permission
and you close the door.
(I am now closing my eyes).
I was blind
now I ignore
the way this body
has never been more
than a robust instrument.
I use it as such.
You dismiss my thoughts,
that is your mistake.
Your hand on the back of my neck,
pulling down to devour.
We always speak of ***
as in hunting terms.
A predator hunts his prey.
The prey traps her meal.
But I no longer resist
and I admit that violence
no longer shines.
It is nothing and makes
for one hell of a drowsy exchange.
You disrobe me,
these mechanics are boring.
The choreography of two
relative strangers (I hardly know
you in the end, we don’t talk)
moving their bodies in
a badly needed rhythm.
Pure imagination.
We dance for the other
without listening
and you step on my toes.
I crave the scratching halt of the song.
Your tongue is metallic.
This has been ugly since day one.
I shut my eyes, my head not spinning,
and its only now that I see.
I no longer wish to force
stimulation through the filter of my body.
You shut the door
and I shut out the world.