Prolog:
Foreplay opens with an aphrodisiac dubbed the mind
caressing private chambers with passion, over time
words stimulating nerve-endings for the ideal tease
like the skin dripping of honey from the nectar of bees
exploiting the fragrances of scented oils and balms
or maybe vib’ing lyrics inducing a seductive calm
compelling forces bombard the intellectual’s sanity
as the proximity of the blackhole distorts humanity

Love’s Play:
Costars entwine heated bodies for love’s embrace
as moments become endless as vectors of subspace
sporadic movements take the form of blissful spasms
while the players combine to mold a single plasm
ringing chimes fulfill the awareness with sensations
too diverse to classify for logical deliberations
yet finally, the mountaintop of cliffs can be reached
where there is no retreat and no return from its breach

Epilog:
Aftermath closes basking from the physical exertion
as two kindred spirits epitomize timeless insertion
gazing deeply into the abyss of the partner’s soul
only to find comfort and compassion ruling the role
can this be the earthly heaven that one truly beholds
written in the historic words as the heavens foretold
feelings ignite once again burning deeply within
opening yet another intriguing act, one must attend.

a single column around
my favourite part,
the inside of your wrists
I brush the fibers against porcelain
wanting to leave a mark
let me create a map of red lines
and bruises on your skin
this way I'll know where to
lightly caress or
run my tongue along or
dig my fingers into

breath you into me
and sync our breaths
slow and calm
I run the bight along your arms
tug it across your chest
it is meticulous as the rope runs tandem
and I go slow
savouring each ******* fold
over, under, through, tighter, harder

your smile commands me
so I ask you to beg
tell me you want it
I want to hear it
tell me you want me
of course I'll give in
we both know you're in charge

I maintain tension with the rope
it's a language I've become fluent in
I maintain tension through eye contact
though I pray you won't see through me
I maintain control
of myself and keep to the task at hand
wrapping you like a gift, like my gift

subspace is a land I've never been to
but I know the face you make
when you get there
your eyes flit and I can sense your arousal
our breathing quickens
as you contract against my lips
you are unbound and released
as I pull the rope tighter

I'll bind you free

Milky mid-west skin.
My paddle serves white hot heat.
Red, now blue. Good girl.

I did not know such thoughts
till I lay here tightly bound
and pleasures that I knew not
till I felt your ropes around.

I did not know the freedom
that ******* could so bring
or of eager anticipating
how a riding crop might sting.

I did not know the beauty
of being in your chains
as nothing but a slavegirl
to use as you intend.

I did not know the silence
that a leather hood could give.
locked in isolation
where nothing can intrude.

I did not know the feeling
of fingers touching so,
bringing deep caresses
to inflame my inner self.

I did not know the flowing
that would be drawn from me,
as hands I could not see there
might reach so deep within.

I did not know the warming
that would so rise inside,
to make me gasp with wanting
as I your knowing fingers ride.

I did not know the parting
so widely of my thighs,
that would accept your loving
as you hard against me rise.

I did not know how deeply
you would slide into me,
as my moist and eager welcome
would take you in so free.

I did not know that *******
could make me feel like this,
to be loved in this special way
was my need you see.

I did not know the rising
that comes from deep within,
with unstoppable explosions
that blow my mind away.

I did not know of subspace
that place you send me to
where I am in another world
until I return to you.

You have been my teacher
of things I did not know,
and that I was unaware
of the need I had of them.

I thought myself so worldly
yet was so innocent,
of such dark pleasures
that you brought to life for me.

You have taught me much
of things I did not know,
that freedom’s an illusion
and incarceration’s me.

Francesca Anderssen 2018

The stream leaves my eye as it threads
Between muddy arms,under swaying grass,
With darkened stones nestled snuggly in its bed
Stalked by a hound reflected in amber glass
Playfully raising front paws to fall and splash

Though she tired beneath the cloudless july sky
The hound did not enter the stream's embrace,
Her longing whimper and the streams cool reply
Still echo in my skull's subspace

What something held her tail I can't recall
But she tired and layed down to rest
In soft brush n' pleasant light n' long before sun fall
Shedding the vigor she had professed
She shut the light from her eyes and slumber soon commenced


Far from sight, the stream trickles on
And the hound snores at my feet,
The remnants of their meeting gone
But for those held in my seat

shaft of light through
tassels, clinking cutlery,
vacuous space
varnished petrification
of wood,
monotonous whir of the fan
and the cessation of the clock
(i give it taps to test
  its life but time has
  given up on me)
the surreptitious chirp of
bird and the flirtatious advancement of a shadow.
Hugo's crucified howl
in his kennel -
the bristle of broom from
the outside, sun raking through
a mound of dead leaves
scattered across this humdrum thread of the world.
ceramic persona
being formed into something
   ephemeral: say a household,
      or little stone-men,
a sturdy house of epistles
   or just a nook for a free dove.
first to go is the sound
   of the afternoon and the next
     is i, wearing 2 day old jeans,
starting the car, revs it like
   a beast in stupendous heat,
     raves the avenue and brings
with its deceitful snarl, the weight of all trivialities, enclosed somewhere in the dark annexes of the compact subspace,
   wishing for a crash,
   a collision,
   a time for smallness,
   or of being
   nothing but
   air, or the clock that died on me, or just
    10 AM, nothing else.

I live in a dark coal-de-sac
giving off Bonnie Tyler sparks
the Rod Stewart of loneliness,
feeling heart arch at Market Basket

I go up and down elevator
music with hooks
and loops bringing
back Ghost and Word

Modern interlacing
ritual and food
in my head and in our
breaking bread

Why do you think the feast
is movable?

Weekend food shopping;
stocking; cooking some,
but most of it,  wasted,
rotting away even with
modern coolness

It's just me. It's just she
The time is gone,
the nest is empty
wish I had something more
to say

It's just Dad visiting
every weekend
to sit with his daughter
to watch his granddaughter
play soccer

It's just Mom cooking
a minor chord meal,
nothing like the Major
meals of her missing
older Sister

It's just weekend sushi
or Pho in Simi Valley
modulating one
Key memory to another

The voices go
ghosts fade
and yet the ritualistic
love persist in my
looped head in my
OCD play
at every meal
repeatedly self cutting
our geometric thought
Elements within a Euclidean
subspace

It hit me like a nuclear war
While she was on the floor, with her voice rolling down the walls
And her sickly sweet blood dripping from the ceiling
Her hair is a supernova, and her eyes are the Big Bang
Setting off infinite unseen particles on an atmospheric trajectory in to the widening gyre of my consciousness
I cannot contain it any more than I could put a leash on the sun
I am the new original sin, and I'll **** humankind to their home made Hell with a smile on my face
Paradise is right outside of my periphery  and I could not care less
She is queen of beast in a dream kingdom
A howling nightmare for the pure of heart and the porcelain of skin
She is love that rips flesh from bones and I laugh as she consumes me
I'm surrounded by fangs on all sides and bathed in brilliant radiation
My body is dead but my brain is alive
With electric currents coursing through kerosene veins
And gravity bows in horrified awe
As I rocket upwards through subspace shattering the speed of light
Shattering the walls of sanity & safety
Unleashing celestial leviathans in to the screaming maw of the universe
I shed my skin light years ago
No longer am I human
No longer am I made in God's image
She is queen of beasts and I will be her king and in my kingdom I will need salvation no longer

What I am trying to say is that
Everything else can wait.
Give beauty a chance to flourish,
A budding seed split between you and I,
Planted still in undeniable
truth.
Watching your eyes wake after a deep sleep;
Laying beside you watching your chest rise then slowly lower
Exchanging your breath for mine. Comprising who we once were, into two totally different people we never knew existed.
Pieces of me given to you and vice versa, the transfer of beating hearts echoing through still sheets.
Lifted through the self conscious thought of being aware,
This enticing sensation of
laying beside each other, hands entwined against the thought of being fulfilled. Though awake,
Bodies lay in rest, searching for one another, this fear of being lost. The constant Roaming in our sleep,the patting of empty spaces beside us.
A subspace that ventures forth as dreaming in parallel.
The inevitable change of being next to someone you truly love.
Realizing that there is something much bigger than yourself.
The world starts to fade, each revolution diminishes a bit.
No longer caring to be seen.
Slowly starting to figure that I am not as selfish as I thought.
Placing myself within your reach,
Looking to feel your hand reach for me.
Realizing that
Everything outside of this perfect moment between you and I can wait.

from space, hurricanes look innocent cotton *****
with an eye hole revealing their true path of destruction

in space, physics tells us black holes absolutely call
compressing, even thought, out of existential deduction

through space, this universe bends and folds with blacksmith's maul
sending star sparks parsecs into web's construction

where subspace entanglements show self and other fall
as one liminal singularity within this carnal carnival unction

-cec

To the mall
Unending road of halls
I look around, all the same
Muted in play, perfect in pay
A singularity, polarity
In solidarity, I see beneath the regularity
Place of no grace with an average pace
Staring out into subspace
I say to this face:
I am tired of this workplace.