Dancing
that little dance of lotus buds, we, step step step in our night time, while
daybreak shines
on stumbling toes. Graced like the edges of An Auguste Rodin, we trampede along
our timeline. Gluey, and content, we ignore the threat of dawn, that is time
zoned and holy. Black slacks swish swish swish and blue and
heaving we exhaust and We agree to squander our twenties, stuck in a tepid
tango, named you and me, lovers. The sex is a David, a great David deferring
the Goliath sized blisters burning our feet, and we danced a dance that is
beauty and blue. Gentle suitors monocled, and conditioned to wait, sit in, and
dream of the song’s ending, that crash of symbols, the alarm clock buzzing for
us to encounter another day, their turn to cut in to dance. I call ‘em fans,
and they call upon where I will be when we stop dancing. Empty smiles grit
through a fire of distant hopes, and not so empty eyes watch real time twin
Pisces break in the dJ, that hip hop priestly burrow, caving in before
us. The zeitgeist of our sour splendor, an idol worshipped by mendicants,
broke for love, Cast us in silver and shaped us as finned twins, swimming along
in a torrent for passion that is beauty and blue. Those damned fish took their
place and shook their place. And we too, did wait for a dying bull, stagger
stagger stagger to the nearest exit. Feted hands, sweat pouring palms clench,
cry to years we carried that two step, one two step to the beats of a
nighttime love that is blurry and full, stay stay stay. Shackled in our warmth,
we get heated. Hot friction and hot friction. Weary and worn, we lay. And we
lay.
Breathe
deeply now, in hale that aromatic tangibility of comfort, and recognize that
you are now yoga master at one with your breath, of your breath, in your
breath. Conscious and understood. Smile at me upon pillows tossed
in a tarry of splendid sensual embrace, a timed three count waltz, a bedroom
dance, now just for show, and do so, so I can hear you vibrate those
vocal cords in a capricious manner. Exhale cum covered breath, and talk
of fancies and nancies and of lavender soap. Talk of lingering frustrations,
and tonal verbations, the disgust of our nation and of cabbages and kings.
Inhale and talk of the size of our dicks, the sunsets whipping daylight and
of the cured south thai-landic hiv patients. Talk so can I smell those
salty words and wait for your teeth to show, a stoic water surface, Narcissus
called lover. The night, a tribute to what is beauty and blue.
Then a yellow hued dew comes through and I begin to ache. Morning
time bringing thoughts of what would be regret, and I stretched and commanded
answers of myself, how long will this continue, how long will I seek comfort
for solace and good sex for a countership and you for me. a sun and a sun’s
mirror lags, and images of a self repeat, a playing card striking beats on the
spoke of a childhood bike like a beat beat beat. And I answer in a
tempest of tearing on clothes, should’ve wained from snooze, late for my life,
and Morningstead scenes scrapple, green for their turn in Chronos’ arena,
that is time zoned and holy. Then, I am mindful of age, and ring after
ring, I am ten fingers full, and deceiving our fans. Night after night we break
at the eve of what seems ten thousand dawns. We break before the talk turns to
us, named you and me, lovers and we don’t stop stop stop and still …stumble
over our four left feet.
