Her hands are a mystery
If you look at them, you see his light
But if you look into them, you feel a consciousness of their own.

Their spirits embrace at a single moment
and all Time and all Trees pray
for them.

But the peach trees stand still; silent
They witness the reincarnation of his dreams
Chaos, absolute seedless chaos
A peach drops and dies.

In the darkness, the peach is unseen
Only eyes question death
Flooding, flooding, flooding
Only twelve million answers

Ravenous stars light the sky
by hunger for only their answer
But enlightenment is encrypted
in Latin and all the languages
of the world.
And her conscience is full and sleeps.

Who’s to blame her?
A vision of red may only wander
And wonder she is.
In China, dragons dance to their unheard
secret.

Oh, but the owls know.
Within their ocean of a soul
bathe the greatest whales
eating oranges.
They grow oranges in their minds
to keep the sun jealous.

Zealously, the gods blow
new passion every morning
Her suprasternal notch ignites
His lips bloom twelve roses
And all clocks stop, and fly

Yet their fusion reeks
Confusion lasting a few weeks
and a painting
A painting of stones born
by their bedside every time they
hug; free

Free love ceases to be a myth
It blinds an entire universe
into entropy for eternity

Her magic, as free, is trapped
in books and lost music
His breath, as lost, cradles
every word
The elephants walk through mirrors
into her

Her blue shirt falls apart
A heart beat crying, squanders
Every button, hiding the moon
A pomegranate seed as red as her vision

Her hands are a mystery
If you touch them, you
feel him, in all sadness and grace
You journey into space.

a pink spit shine in your suprasternal notch,
split lip stamping your skin with red,
lipstick kissmarks or ****** scabs. this is how it goes,
this is how you learn to spell your name,
letters to fill your mouth. rituals leave stains on your sheets.
you washed them in the river and the fish all rose to meet you, belly-up.
you eating porcelain, ignoring your bleeding gums, stronger than a doll. id rather be scared than lonely you said
as if they were mutually exclusive,
as if it was a choice. pressing your fingers in the saviors wounds cause you dont believe in holy
but you believe in gore. scales like stars littered in the grass.
you in the streets screaming HIT ME at indifferent cars,
begging dead wolves to eat you too, one last meal, one last **** before you go,
one more sin cant **** you too much, right? right?
death like a bloodletting, draining a wound.
at the riverside you sort the viscera from the flesh,
leave the eyes for birds. fill your hollows with something warm,
something liquid and soft,
for a moment you feel whole - until it leaks in rivulets,
soaking your skin, you felt whole.
bring me the head of god,
big enough to build a home inside, bring me the heart of god,
big enough to feed a kingdom.
your head is full of meat, raw and red, juices dripping from the ears,
your head is so, so, full, so full, bring me the liver of god,
clogged with human sin, bring me a poison that could **** the stars.
he brought them down, dragged them from the sky to bless the world, bright like angels,
purity burns. bleach in your fresh-pierced hands.  you were warding off lockjaw,
killing the flesh.my limbs are not mine,
corpse parts,
scars as seams at the joining-place. you say my hands hurt,
you say i feel like my knuckles are splitting, you say can we stop?
you do this every time. keep digging. i feel deathly. i feel deadly.
your feet in soft dirt as the shovel hits wood. i know what you know. i know what you know. i know your name and i know the soft spots on your skull. i know the breakline on your rib, the place where it's almost healed. knowledge of your ****** parts,
the soft parts where the teeth go in. im ready to die,
im waiting to die, put your tongue in my mouth and ill bite it off. put your hand in mine and ill break your wrist.

WELL, KISS MY POPLITEAL FOSSA!

I remember the golden
tassels of my dress
touching the back

of my knees
as I was kissed
for the very first

time bent over
in a clinch as if
we were statuary

the tassels' touch
exquisite in itself
much more sensual

than the actual kiss was
I wondered( his tongue
dancing with my tonsils)if:

there was a name for that
sort of thing
(the back of the knees I mean)

"Ok Freddie!" I commanded
seeing as I seemed
to be in command here

"...that's quite enough of that!"
shattered he reluctantly
took his tongue out of my cheek

"Cheeky ******!" I thought
"should never have let him go
...that far!"

crestfallen he
stammered
a sorry

"You won't tell my mother
...will you?"
hid his ******* with his topper

I went in at once
and asked of father
"Is there a name

for the back of the knees?"
"Of course there is my love!
It's your popliteal fossa!"

I tingled to my toes
having discovered my first
erogenous zone

and knowing
that one day
I would become a doctor

*

Just as the inside of your elbow...the crook of your elbow ...the elbow pit is..is called the "antecubital fossa".
And that cute little bit just under your nose and above your lip is called...the philtrum.
The suprasternal notch (fossa jugularis sternalis), also known as the jugular notch, is another part of human anatomy that is known as an erogenous zone but remains nameless. It is that large, visible dip at the base of the throat.
And that bony part of your elbow is an olecranon which I should know as I broke mine very badly. I was known as "the elbow" and doctors would almost drool over how bad it was and forget their professionalism and go "Shitttttttttt!"