Friday, September 19, 2014

Sextonics

It starts with a vibration in the air.
No, actually, it started with a vibration in back pressured blood.
No, even earlier, it started with smelling you.

I say something. You say something. The air between us dances,
Shrinks, gaps closing, as nearer, nearer, our
Vibrations pulse in time, as body pushes body.
Slip and strike, subduction going under,
But no faults here, no lines dividing
Only all the lines we're crossing.

We crawl upstairs, going higher and higher
Little sacred sex nest no clothes will disturb
Then the quaking preshocks once touches
Tender buttons delicately thumbed and fingered,
Skin on skin dissolving away,
Revealing molten earth and fire,
steam and breath exhausting
The life beneath the skin, the plate, the sky, the universe
And under, the soul you are, you were, you will be
Coming, coming, coming up, up, up

Quake, and God, and Yes, and O,
all the oldest goddesses and gods
first worship, then command,
then all this healing in the land
With each squench of flesh to ease like
Drops of lava fire earth blood water,
like juice to taste and savor
like the last holy blood of a Savior
or maybe like her first taste
Touched for the very first time
More than once each time

We lay. Mess. Spent. Life smell, life taste, sweat.
Marks and scars of violent upheaval,
nothing comes up without tearing through
what weighs it all down every year.
But each geyser, each vomit, each upwell of
earth life blood land
water steam, fallen cloud, rising to join
its winged fragile sisters
in the sky days and nights,
Is remembering and reconnecting.

It is good it is messy. It is good it is pleasureful pain,
The teasing hurts worst of all, but
The crossing through to be inside the flesh of us
Hurts least the most intense it gets,
each time, each time, each time.
The boom has passed, the boom remains, the aftershocks
Eventually cease, and we fall asleep and dream
A few minutes of transcending time and gravity
Fleeing through flying through neither and everything both.

There we have our truest fault,
when no longer clouds nor skins, plates nor molten,
but humans in love, refusing to believe
this is all there is.

We are not ashamed.
Now that we know, you are afraid of us.

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Is this yours?
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