être

 

is this it

drumming

in my sensitive throat

?

this dreamy elevation pounding up my stairs

buzzing like bees behind my ears

eagling awake my Ursa Major

?

this cliche

slapping my eloquence

lathing me into curling pieces

….

I asked her liquid scales

I begged her

I made water coloured love for her

I sang it

I did

I am

I will

être ou ne pas être

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Simpatico

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art

the samurai

a language born of soft nib

trailing sticky rouge

pressing up off the floor

art answers to my wild driver

cuts corners, sliding sideways

unravelling

this tiny golden soul from the ribbons of a patriarchal past.

ovarian ribbons, wet, sliding ribbons, sweaty, perfumed ribbons

ribbons wrapped tightly, stripping through my naked body

like art

a thoughtful sword

ribbons that hold my breath shallow when it should be deep
that blister my waist when they should kiss
that maul my power

when it should open in awe
this art is determined

deliberate

necessary

to loosen fear defined boundaries

to unwind and clarify

to sooth

to alight upon me in shades orange and pink and bring us

into rhythm

together

a symbiotic climax

momentary

simpatico

a taste of the sound of leaves

on the painted wind of time

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