6/5/2017 A prose set of images and self and sensuality
Our oceans merge into one another.
This is m
and here you
What a strange and impossible situation
to live with one's heart
outside one's body.
I watch myself
from behind a privacy screen
in the dark behind my eyes.
This diaphanous veil
is so light and insubstantial
but obscures so much.
My brain whispers to itself,
a sussurus of inner voices,
all singing different songs
and simultaneously firing words and images
into my private landscapes
like a space program...
or a war...
...a network of rockets launching
with the random nature
of a toddler's scribble in crayon.
I wish they would harmonise.
All these voices, all these different views
pouring out and over each other,
as oiled snakes or fish in barrels.
These concepts squirm with lives of their own,
pitiful and lacking impetus, maybe,
but there are so many roaring words and pictures,
like waves crashing eternally
on the shores of my mind.
Half-formed ideas and inspirations are they,
floating and bumping against each other,
splintering and fracturing like ships at sea...
...how I wish they would find a safe port
and call me home...
I hold her flesh in my hand.
Hot and soft is she.
Just how I like it.
She gives as I take,
her suppleness succumbing
succulent and sensual.
These secret curves
tell tales of tantalising torrid titillation.
Tell those tales to me.