The book of your body; dirty words

It starts with your rocketship.

Your shuttle penetrates universes, exploring galaxies and forcing open my milky ways,

punting supernovas along the way.

The black hole that threatens to swallow you up,

in its mighty bottomless mouth,

never comes

but is near-enough.

You float like jetsam in sacred space,

starry-eyed and shard-gutted.

You blossom beautiful, and your thick thorns thrust, shooting out sleepily,

your petals parting pleasantly, blindly, in my eclipse.

I am the desert rose in your orchard,

that stomping ground of giants, myths and monsters.

Come down to me, cloud above!

I mew and I mire,

I pine and I long

for your spring to burst,

for the water to finally flood,

the fruit to fall,

the nut to bust;

Wanton.

My roots tickle the ground and tease your water up from the curdling core.

They stretch and suck, sensing the climax.

I crave the rainstorm, the smell of it approaching

taunts me and I grow, gluttonous, alongside my anticipation.

Alas,

my thirst weakens me and wearies my shaking stem;

I wither the while without your wet.

It begins with the saga in your ancient smile;

ecstatic eyes,

your laugh like the gods, cruel and perfect;

and ends with beating of

heroic hearts, helmet-heads,

held hands and harlot holes,

holy hell I hunger.

You are hard like the hard place

(I bash whole-heartedly against you)

and soft like the velveteen of mossy womb,

my ears thud dully with the comforting sounds of Here,

as I sleep, swimming, I die blissful.

Your hand and mine stop thinking altogether.

You are plunging into my ears, sea-diver, moving the innards with music,

like etching the caves of me, the cove within. The concave of me. The cunt cave in me.

Irreverant and innocent,

you are the eternal Bacchus and I, the lucky, follow you where we go.

Thick as thieves

we take the night; no apologies, no regrets.

No shits given.

Your talk and your world of wordcraft -

You excite easily and

I learn from you.

Comfortably,

I soak in you. I soak you in.

You are a wildcard

and I am your petting zoo.

You are the catch of the season,

and I reel you in

with breadcrumbs, fishbait, peach schnapps,

that strategic treasuretrail to my candycottage,

hoping to hook you on my whore's carnival.

People and llamas flicker like phantom static, le cirque extraordinaire,

but fearless and unflinching, - unearthly children! -

we play at building blocks with the cosmos;

perfect fit.

We are stone cold killers at this point.

You are down for this

and I am up for it;

all kinds of trouble.

Ready unsteady gone