by Tomorrow's Man
September 06, 2003
It's your mouth, that's what's gotten the body to where the body is, not the air you push toward the plastic of the cell phone or the prayers you send to God- God- Goddess, it is not what I hear through the seven veils (six fallen) of hyperbole or social circumstance, it is the simple stance of a quite warm muscle a-flitter in a cavity that is keystoned by one of your many teeth, it is the prophecy that you masturbate out of the almost-full moon, it is the slight glance askance that grinds my hips into the future like a side of cheap beef into a McDonald's patron.
Yes.
Yes.
C'mere, Salomé. Let's boogie.