Pleasure

 

If I haven’t found time to measure

the ticks that make my clock work

my hands covering my face in disbelief

to trace the relief

in finding cohesive direction

at noon and midnight

at half past six

half past sex

too much text

and not enough meaning,

too much context

and stuck on leaning.

 

I’ve fallen on your columns like greek antiquity

and found relics from another time

pottery that told stories

your skin held your past

like divine design

mixing macchiatos and frothing foam

to separate your bitterness

from the receptive lips of tasters,

of takers,

in order to survive

you build your own prison

and lost yourself inside of walls.

WALLS.

Do these walls protect,

or entrap?

Can we loose our protection

and open ourselves up to this dangerous world

and play the field.

 

Let us be the danger

the demons

the nightmares

so that our defense is in our prowling offense

to be the first to bite

the first taker of the gold

to steal what has been taken from us

with bloody hands and burned skin

we grabbed the sun with our reach

and have fallen before

but this time,

we shall have a proper foundation

built on the bones of our fathers

the canals of our mothers.

 

 

Let our pleasure be this capturing

this rapturing dominance

to spread our arms like our seeds

our strength is in our strength

protection is for the weak

we are armored with a proverbial coat

a royal cloak

dressed in sublime linens

caressing nude beauty.

 

 

 

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