honey on the spoon

glowing and growing
like a drop of honey,
slipping down the spoon.

coiled and tensed,
waiting in the dark,
a small animal's sleek fur shining in your hungry eyes.

green varicose lines webbing your arms,
scars of your secret, illegible histories,
vein-ridges of blood,
stopped, choked with lost lovers' memories
cruel, hard nights of cold, sour sweat
staining your skin,
the crush of the outside
lining the inner walls of your broken body,
pink foam of seawater and cardiopulmonary fluid,
remnants of joyful copulation, scraps
of tender meetings and bitter vigils,
unanswerable questions hanging from your bones.

glowing and growing
like a drop of honey,
slipping down the spoon,

the fulness of your belly cupped in the palm of my hand,
replete and replenished with the nourishment
of these endless days and nights,
like two fingers discovering the
soft web of skin at their meeting,
breathing the sweetness of mingling,
whispered voices dwindling in distracted ears,
eyes pleased to learn the lines of another body
delivering a new image of loveliness to one another,
answering the unsuspected riddles of loneliness,
the eyelashes of epiphany brushing my forehead,
the light of day warming my cold, pale skin.


JJ-Wan Kenobi said...

Listening to a lot of Nina Simone, are we??? Or could it be that my 'little' cousin (who actually outweighs me AND towers over me) is in love?

I knew the Manchester United soccer jersey I bought you for Christmas would attract the ladies...

paulmonster said...

hey now wait a minute,
there are some pretty consciously grotesque images going on in here, right? Notice the persistence of hunger and famished imagery, the focus on physical and even eschatological forms. I think it would be a bit premature to chalk up 'honey on the spoon' to moonstruck mushiness.

unless the carribean sun did something nasty to your brainpan, there, cousin.

welcome back, you hooligan.