caution : erotic content
.
I shouldn’t drive
I shouldn’t even look
toward the van
across the fcuk it’s warm
in here, and nothing
matters much
more
than c’mon, man
and there I am
fleeing from
the vast consumptive
emptiness.
freed from what a mirror
must
like stars and like the
heart-beat
arriving in her room
curmudgeon in my hand
her flatmate’s cool
with nowhere else to roam.
.
you’ll be their thermometer
their personal barometer
free to take internal
measurement, to establish
confirmation, diagnosis of
the Emptiness, and erect,
against the gravity,
a charge pole
to lighten all
connected to, as keys go
click in zero time
a giggle and a shhh
a warm suggestive push
they both take off their
tops and kneel, the
plumbing coughs
the walk sign, the bus
stops opposite the bedsit.
never hid my i.p.
never thought
things through that
thoroughly. the windows shine
a tiny smell of feet
with hot, unpainted toes
extracted from their pink
rimmed ankle socks.
the great black
empty space
they celebrate
the consummation
of ourselves.
attacked
around the compass
in stealth and with
invisibility.
the simple As
your thumb print
genescent
the gag she
does
balls deep
the soft back
throat palette
camping air
in nostrils
in a learnt ability
utterly undoable
on some models
kneeling face to face
they hold each others breasts
you slide you clock between
their two, four lips
the pendulum nuts
off, drawing out
seconds, hours tick
tick ticking into decades,
pass the salt
of Ignorance
the limes, crush
the nothingness
they want it raw
undiluted, so
you make a little
up, to describe it
after brunch
and mouthwash
how the tight five,
as they packed down
front row
knitting
like a
zipper.
.
catapult and
sledgehammer
linear integrity
of atomic spin,
that we
do not go through
the door
before the feet have
walked us to it.
you’ve eaten the roach,
lit the smoke,
both are on their back
rubbing their crotch
for story time
as you tell them
about the heat
-thickened cocks
balls low hanging in suds
in the overhead showers,
like blood, dye, paint stain
leg mud, washing down
into the grated drains
hairy and waxed, buttocks
and backs, front body
hungers and love
the soapy
sandalwood steam
scuffs and jandals
ankles Auckland-narrow
Curlew Bay to Mangere
across-shoulder acreage
the country looseness
of labial skin space
behind the ball sacks.
pine scent,
supple knuckles
of spine back, pencil
rubber nipples
in hair, helmets
& hats, long necks
tilted to the shower
heads, fart smell,
towel flick. you introduce
the girls through
the locker room
as the items promised
by the coaching team
to the team-mates could
allow their solid mingle.
they remain beneath the
shower heads, victoriously
abled, as the players’ valued
marriage more looked on
semi hard esteem, mates
from beyond the showers
leaving six naked rugby players
to welcome
them with all each
one
desires.
.
shouldn’t drive, should
not prepare a line
waiting at the red light
but there I am, alight
and canopy
to the cover-up
unspeakable abyss
made bold
by first successes.
three a night,
in some cases,
some misses, some
were guesses, wore glasses,
churched in home-made dresses,
couldn’t function unwanted;
loved, but haunted
spread as were their dresses
across the sturdy framework
of the pelvis, their perfumed
buttholes, ankles, over a metre
apart, leather straps replaced
with bungie cords and velcro.
I shouldn’t suck the melt-o,
tongue the curtains open,
light this vast, consuming
enterprise, this follow-thru
this solid, thick o’ the bone
man, his stubby shunter,
his stamina, discretion,
animation, is inventive,
good natured, insightful,
practicing a thing called
ONS: the oldest wasn’t
26 and barefoot
anymore. back on, however;
One-off Novelty
Sex, sweetheart,
stewart, bowie,
rollers, melodies
of abba, still
remembers donna,
summers and
summers
ago.