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Glittermouse
Nov. 3rd, 2003 12:17 pmHe touched the hope of our rendezvous, each one in turn, ripened beneath their unknowable glitter. We poured out, muttered to one another in the gaping space. I slowly walked between seconds, the fire-limmed leaves, and the baroque thin gilding of sexual desire. We, black branches every one, full of hope, speared and lost behind each other with the best lies we could breathe and come up with in an hour. I was left slowly merged too with that other skin: too trippingly and you tell me how in the heat, you turned soft, fallen amid the undergrowth: body, overheated by each sweet sunlit dream.
I out untouching and wandered then cat-like and color suffers to bind fast each to each closed over the openings with the help of her face.
"She never wandered off singing of me," the other fires supply their voice, her backside replayed and ricocheted we longed for wares in dark streets under our relentless moon. “Where the lovers are, I hid, my two figures also collapsed just so, their divided minds seeking their one, only minus the stars. "
She in these entanglements? Until we saw, sang, left by them, the slow stepping flex of wings and children, their hands in hers. Teach me a bloody lesson.
“At last another", swept under by the eager bent voice, by the guise of their figures toward her vast and terrible. “Teach me a bloody lesson.”
O! My eyes my toward-each-other’s-arms and open mouth: I gawked shamefully outstretched and pawed again in spite of the sunrise!
They came, a small her distant toes. Together river of heads and under the mangrove, moon-caught and swirling with golden leaves. It all came ripe in the starlight: wooded streets, ill-leveled roads of the city, sweat and sweetness and in our nostrils, fleshy chaos.
"It was," she said, “the hidden children in my cupboard. The stars that slowly and dance into the cobbled streets. A white palazzo stood on alone and I could count the luxury.
“Haze rose, gave off the scent of sun-warmed stone barns in their corona of midday.” She is the orange-desired sound of slow breaths and sweet rebounds in the grass. I tuned to her at her pull of gilded voices.
“I watched the processional, then:” She maintained. “To record the dirt-packed ground, the musicless streetmen with every small gesture she allows me and with sweet meats and perfumes, the multicolored heads bent in the odor of the autumn.
“The smell always happened with the fall-- where our others were looking away for who will lust come from? Unblinkingly within us? I consume the flood of gore from the passers by, we sloped toward each, denied the white lowcutting other filled with the of your blouses, the dread of hope the reshaped spires of your red light of breathless house.”
I couldn’t listen anymore, instead turned my attention down the street, down my legs, down into the city. They trudge the marketplaces. Stand, finally, baby-birdlike from the many oranges upon them and all the ridiculous blues and bright patterns and fumes of them: the stars, passing jets in fearless murmery that harangue us to join them lounged upon the wet bedspread of sunrise.
“At last!” she whirled with her angular mass of arms and elbows and mouths. We hesitated, ached to bound down the tumbled stairs, scream and roll into each other, echoes of breaths upon the brown brown stones. Their carts, each filled at the hour when they can drift smokelike until- but my thoughts went unfinished beneath her interruption.
“We lie now, the Miracle on the ground again, amid the upward heads turned gaping at blue nothing. All to the side: desire, interstellar women, time unto time in who doze the hopes of a new millions-of-gallons thing.”
Flattened and unhesitatingly of one mind, we pour away like the sellers, the sweetly stepping children and softly featured men. We peal songs, claim our river (itself in love) and watch as minds are held aloft. With the fall behind there’s these wings to put on. Could be that I see her denied me in the supple mars-lit moment of lust for her heat and my artless, lost body, despite myself. I am affected. Effected. Effete and rejected. Yo-ho!
O leave, captured in this moment, me sweating and doubtful, netted and isolated, drugged.
I gave up, begged her to dress me full and on the wheel of colorful clothes, this utterance from the memory of horses, the mouths of the tune of satellites. We hoped then for the shambled angled Angry Men. Every blank and multicolored glass notes the hour of our passage. Curse that rain, rain from when we looked at the sky. Smite each other with longing, then come home.
Each time we intent until the bent wrinkle our noses, seeking moon adhered her sticky the smell of the fingers against our flesh other, the feel of and we chilled at the skin, one after each other's presence, reviled another nightmare bites back ourselves for the lovers in quick succession,
It’s us; we who remembered the whole parade of bones, brute displayed disarray of heartache. Now another lithe procession starts and in my tiny respirations, that click of the ears, the sweaty hour and talk of faces pressed against glass drawn out by the bread-smell odor of our bodies.
I out untouching and wandered then cat-like and color suffers to bind fast each to each closed over the openings with the help of her face.
"She never wandered off singing of me," the other fires supply their voice, her backside replayed and ricocheted we longed for wares in dark streets under our relentless moon. “Where the lovers are, I hid, my two figures also collapsed just so, their divided minds seeking their one, only minus the stars. "
She in these entanglements? Until we saw, sang, left by them, the slow stepping flex of wings and children, their hands in hers. Teach me a bloody lesson.
“At last another", swept under by the eager bent voice, by the guise of their figures toward her vast and terrible. “Teach me a bloody lesson.”
O! My eyes my toward-each-other’s-arms and open mouth: I gawked shamefully outstretched and pawed again in spite of the sunrise!
They came, a small her distant toes. Together river of heads and under the mangrove, moon-caught and swirling with golden leaves. It all came ripe in the starlight: wooded streets, ill-leveled roads of the city, sweat and sweetness and in our nostrils, fleshy chaos.
"It was," she said, “the hidden children in my cupboard. The stars that slowly and dance into the cobbled streets. A white palazzo stood on alone and I could count the luxury.
“Haze rose, gave off the scent of sun-warmed stone barns in their corona of midday.” She is the orange-desired sound of slow breaths and sweet rebounds in the grass. I tuned to her at her pull of gilded voices.
“I watched the processional, then:” She maintained. “To record the dirt-packed ground, the musicless streetmen with every small gesture she allows me and with sweet meats and perfumes, the multicolored heads bent in the odor of the autumn.
“The smell always happened with the fall-- where our others were looking away for who will lust come from? Unblinkingly within us? I consume the flood of gore from the passers by, we sloped toward each, denied the white lowcutting other filled with the of your blouses, the dread of hope the reshaped spires of your red light of breathless house.”
I couldn’t listen anymore, instead turned my attention down the street, down my legs, down into the city. They trudge the marketplaces. Stand, finally, baby-birdlike from the many oranges upon them and all the ridiculous blues and bright patterns and fumes of them: the stars, passing jets in fearless murmery that harangue us to join them lounged upon the wet bedspread of sunrise.
“At last!” she whirled with her angular mass of arms and elbows and mouths. We hesitated, ached to bound down the tumbled stairs, scream and roll into each other, echoes of breaths upon the brown brown stones. Their carts, each filled at the hour when they can drift smokelike until- but my thoughts went unfinished beneath her interruption.
“We lie now, the Miracle on the ground again, amid the upward heads turned gaping at blue nothing. All to the side: desire, interstellar women, time unto time in who doze the hopes of a new millions-of-gallons thing.”
Flattened and unhesitatingly of one mind, we pour away like the sellers, the sweetly stepping children and softly featured men. We peal songs, claim our river (itself in love) and watch as minds are held aloft. With the fall behind there’s these wings to put on. Could be that I see her denied me in the supple mars-lit moment of lust for her heat and my artless, lost body, despite myself. I am affected. Effected. Effete and rejected. Yo-ho!
O leave, captured in this moment, me sweating and doubtful, netted and isolated, drugged.
I gave up, begged her to dress me full and on the wheel of colorful clothes, this utterance from the memory of horses, the mouths of the tune of satellites. We hoped then for the shambled angled Angry Men. Every blank and multicolored glass notes the hour of our passage. Curse that rain, rain from when we looked at the sky. Smite each other with longing, then come home.
Each time we intent until the bent wrinkle our noses, seeking moon adhered her sticky the smell of the fingers against our flesh other, the feel of and we chilled at the skin, one after each other's presence, reviled another nightmare bites back ourselves for the lovers in quick succession,
It’s us; we who remembered the whole parade of bones, brute displayed disarray of heartache. Now another lithe procession starts and in my tiny respirations, that click of the ears, the sweaty hour and talk of faces pressed against glass drawn out by the bread-smell odor of our bodies.