Rags against skin that, in their turning,
feel to float, untethered, with Nothing beneath
Your movements, a mimesis of desire
Socket joints, polished by the rising and falling actions of arms
Arcing and Chasing after softened fruits
An echo, a stone
ripples on the surface, lifted by a ribbon of bells.
A perfect stream, a penant ensign,
Hands gliding against each other
I think of you that night in heat, alone in an unlit room
: Of bells that glow As Embers between us.
How a breath can fill the room, systolic and Reaching
A metal table cloth folding like tongues
a seam in the cast to lick across]
make it stick : A film too thin to seal shut, Falling with a clamour.
You move, not knowing,
How anything can become soft when held between teeth for long enough, even
alabaster.
A cloth that cannot find its form
with Nothing beneath it