Like A Flower Painted Red

inhale
                              breathe
           ask the night for what the day can bring
an ear brushes a thigh
high rises enclose a million castles
rising
               crumbling
kissing your feet
your face will twitch and to keep you alive I will kiss you all over
breathe...
The heart is a muscle inclosed in a cage
A pull at the zip and fondle the gland
In the ocean the foam grinds the sand
grand
         high
                 painted red
from pink slumber to heavy crimson roar
In the light
                 synthesised
inhaled
the taste of true masculinity
sweet flavours mixed with sweet
Ask the night why the sounds are so primitive
so...
       guttural
we pace
we walk
we knock each other against stone walls
listening for the primordial calls
clawing for key holes
your flower
                  inhale
your water
                 swallow
your offering
                     taste
Lust, flashing, strobing, streaming like fish through water
Throbbing like the suns reflection off snow
Beating like lungs
inhale
                         breathe
In cities of men we will meet
You will know me by my scent
No... This hunter has not returned from his hill...
Throbbing like snow
Like a flower painted red
                                      inhale

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Lake Daff-Dilly

Image
Fish on the water Scales floating back and forth Grey clouds hanging high White clouds beneath A naked man asleep Drowsy with whiskey Strange sunlight on his calves His chest slowly rising, slowly falling The smell of wild herbs Smoke from the kitchen fire Sex on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly Old myths talk of death The women think of birth Some wish they could leave The men pray on boats Trout stumble in their wake Drunk on the water's cold The flies were made by old hands The rod belonged to a dead uncle God I hope there is more whiskey The fire is still going I want you on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly
Read more

Blind Me And Guide Me

Image
What is it you want me to believe in? Is it the flock of birds flying like joined roses floating The peak of sensual age? I turn Twenty Nine and the climax is mine The plea of a generation held together by torture? The torture of the prophets- Whitman, he nurses us Is it the course touch of a hand roughened by sand and rock? The path that applauses every step to Sodom The generous buddhist- bearded with eyes closed? In bed with the russian before dawn, We Let Him Down! The cold winter warmed by cynicism and a centuries irony? You can warm my arse with your country charm The poets lining their pockets with fools gold? Lining up to be shot by the artists- a war with out generals The skeleton with eyes to the stars? Awake and noticing how the apple never rots Is it the shop keeper that keeps everything shaded? The man who keeps a statue of Apollo at the bottom of his pool The mongrel God of Egypt and Babylon? So large his nose was singed by the sun Is it the song of hope written in the s
Read more

Whose Language Will I Speak?

Image
Allow me a little time to rest the clamour Upon the contours of your form The mirror gaze within your reply Will flash and fall and rise and build response Verbal shouts and gutteral groans In my room we both are right In hotels we are wrong Where will we die? Where will we scatter? Face down, lovers bodies, Russian grasses, Russian ice Before that I will paint you I will bury you in colour, on canvas While you tell me of your youth Of chasing birds and pretending you could fly The clamour is merely collection of one stands A collection of songs Trapped within my head, resting on your form And the guardian angles are sculpted into the architecture And I can see beautiful shade below your stomach As your leg is raised and it is an arch One to hold and make prayers from As I bow down and taste the flesh of man What will happen to us? Where will you die? You who was born to the poet and the siren Where will I go? Me, the hunter who has yet to return from the hi
Read more