I stare at my figure too dull to doll it up with knots, wry ribbons that stitch the wild hair into a tail. 5 The hips flare out from the belly sack, a hairy flood of becomings, selves I may invite back for a drink... Incipient breasts 10 flow molded from mounded shoulders, nipples stiff to be bitten. It's womanish, except for the blowfish. Figgy balls 15 complacent as labia, shed placenta from some god-afterbirth. The dill a willie soft as a loaf or foggy forethought, clitoral when licked 20 by a mind or a lip anything that drugs the blood into the long cave, the manger hung with drums, a terrified beating 25 that surges and squeezes. A swallowed heart would be less insistent, more nurturative, provide a maturer moaning than this hollow stick 30 with its found sounding, a seashell dragging its echo. Hot, prophetic folds saunter simmer-shimmeringly, lacteal, erect. 35 The wet coast solders its salts against the groin, sand and fire and thighs. A night, a womb floats her sewn awning over us, 40 a marmalade softness constricted to eloquence. Stars hung out to dry, zen observers, mark our dartings 45 like twins in the linen. Love, love swells and sweats between us, cloisonne oysters stripped 50 from their bone shells, the shellack of evolution returned to nudity. Somewhere, hidden below the neckline of waters 55 that define us, my semen rot and wait, rot and wait, acid prisoners pale to escape.
From the collection "Naked Eloquence"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.