This is my friend, Kirsty, and she who was the greatest of all cats, Nell Schroedinger. It is one
Well I would have to say I Mean sure -
The temptation exists and is not only there but an open doorway lined with social exercises and embracing nomenclature
But one should also note the teeth and the eviscerating smile forming on our own lips – we are not in danger of devouring each other so much perhaps, as ourselves.
I used to say with heavy breath rich with moisture and lust – I did I remember it explicitly and exquisitely, my eyes deep pinprick lights I would indeed of course be grinding my teeth to points themselves -
I would say with relish imagining my own flicking pointed glances heating up with the dancing touch of my vision -
I would open my mouth and feed outwards, I would say
Guttural and with cheeks sore from smiles such smiles such wide Cheshire smiles.
This advice I would have issued in whispers to my own ears if only my red red lips would stretch… “Eat it…suck it down…” Oh yes.
A vast fraction of tolerance and Gargoyle posture curled over myself heaped over heavy and toppled… well of course. And how is it else that I should react – after all I was and still am -there.
Whatever you do
Don’t answer the phone.
I might, if you convince me – or perhaps begin to try just even ask I would feed you segments from an orange and tend to your sticky cheek with paint spattered sheets. Lose your faith in yourself no no I don’t mean it THAT WAY I mean lose your faith – in yourself. It is better that way. Faith in any and every sense belongs in our stomachs with the orange segments, mixed with pulp and bile somewhere inside you that you have never seen. If you would take the care and trouble for a little in the afternoon – stare or even swell your own sensations and you might find indeed that that is where it already resides.
If not then it will need to be swallowed much like the life that you have wet and tasted with your serpentine tongue. No forks or any sort of cutlery thanks. I believe the requirement is for gleaming human jaws and little else.
And like small but repetitive hearts dotting romantically curved i’s we will open our shirts and place our pale hands on our bare flesh and feel the indifferent stutter of each counted breathy beat, scattered with earth and kissed each one each turn supple and tender.
Can feel it silky inside me a monster and dancer both vibrating hand in hand sick under the moonlight.
Charcoal and chalk