ExileThe sound of her voice was his music,mute of syllables, singing of hisbanishment from the grace of her words.He gathered sleep from the outline ofher breasts, keeping himself to adark niche within reach of her perfume.Keeping her in his sight, he wonderedas he began to pleasure;when had she known? He imagined a much younger timewhen she couldextract milk from the stars,when she first offered a cup to his lips,trembling from kneeling on thecold foyer tiles of her regal domicile.Now there he was, reduced to avicarious act while the sight of heruplifted him,never taking his quartz eyes off her,and her fertilitywas all the adornment he desired.He, a pebble in the garden, neededno pillow or curtain. His nostrils filledwith essence of Osmanthus.All he knew from that moment when theagony of his passion ignited washearing the song of his exquisite exile.
Lust in 3 ActsAct IThe fever hit quickly, it always did.His lust compelled brought her to himwrapped in a rug, sans a compass tomoor within her, astounded by the songthat played off her pelvis with his semen.He swooned, taking her into himself,wanting it completely, his third eye inorbit seeing nothing else,needing nothing more, and famished foreverything: to pine as if pining was lust.Act IIAn open window lent inwards to the weep ofa violin playing once through and never again.The talent of his consumption for her, for aheartbeat, a virginal moment, not to question,with mind at rest and body floating in denial.The lure of a dark cry, he could not turn to hernor could he let go, this perversion, whereair thins till there's noneAct IIITrembling at the mercy of his lover, there wasno grace, and none sought.Orgasmic words and thoughts, erotic intellectflowing, anonymous art.His fingers tight within the leaking chink tostaunch the flow but never trie
No Matter LoveI.I'm the comet that appeared for the first timethat will never returnthrough the judgment of your life,revealing myself,only to have you receive what I bringas the love you long to take and returnwithout reservationbefore the ice dust from my departurefades for all time.II.Through the slender-necked sitar's silvery notespass the fragrance of our moonstruck limbssurrendering to breezesthat play off a river that honorsthe generations of lovers we now embody.III.You were the fallen angel that waited so long,knowing I'd be found,to resuscitate and raise you up;Not from whence you toppled,but to couple in a holy damnationand welcome in celebrationand never regret, no matter.