Rough tough denim on my teeth, hairs gleam from zipper
glitter, humid fumes sopping the membranes back in my nose, you yank on my big
ears, “They’re red,” you growl, head in the ceiling light.
~~~~
Fish-mouthed, I blow through the sling of your cotton
lollipops, that vein popping in my cheek, your nails in my nape. I make a
forced landing in your bayou as your butt welts on the chair’s hard edge. Fear
of smells, of tastes; of piss, sweat, menses, smegmas, woman stew; slobber
sloshes my back teeth.
Down at the pit, chemical soup boils, but up here my tongue
goes dry prying at the sealed seam under the tangle; then searing acid tangs
the diamond drill-point. White flecks on your sticky coral folds peeling sleepily
back like band-aids. Scents of talc, broth, and acrid spices.
Vertical flesh flanges separate as I furrow my tongue up the
gullies, gorges, wettening arroyos; soft cheeses mingle in my spit. The taste
warms like lake water when you’ve been in a minute.
I hawk-circle your shy rose beeper, breezing across her like
a shadow, nipping with tooth tips; you try to stay still. Spasms at the arc of
your thighs.
Vigorous beaver-tail laps, good hard bone under the soft
stuff, hair sopping all around, my chin oozes sauce. I see sparks in your mind.
What’s it like? What’s it like?
You claw my scalp, knees at your ears; I burrow into you
like a swimmer, carving out big steam shovel gobs, the shape of my face is
molded into your meat; you order me to crawl in, all the way in! My tongue
shoots to your furnace, my guy down below whines “Me too!” but uh-uh.
I go south, follow the knobbled seam to the bad part of
town, the far side of the moon, oopty-doop; I feel you wince, bad girl, dirty
girl. WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING BACK THERE?
North again, I suck you in with a plip and spit you out,
suck in fistfuls of cunt; fins, folds, polyps, whorls of animal plasm. Your
legs lock around my head, they flex, squeeze, crunch; it hurts. I whip my face
back and forth, tongue out stiff; you buck back, slamming from the base of your
spine; I try to stay latched on, eyebrows slathered with our mess.
You’re breaking my neck, I’m losing teeth. You just tore off
my ear!
There’s no detail left in your crotch, it’s all seething,
crawling, cellular lava, it’s giving off light like melted steel, I want it to STINK but,
There’s no smell. There’s no taste. There’s nothing.
Silence. Sky. A parachute opens.
There’s no smell. There’s no taste. There’s nothing.
Silence. Sky. A parachute opens.
Note: this was published in Yellow Silk in the 80's. I got a
free copy for it. A conversation in which a poem (by Charles Simic) is titled "Eating Out the Angel of Death" brought it to mind. Great line, poignant verse.
~~~~
