I Am Avoiding Talking About You

Tell students that, for homework, they should make love to the shadow of the photographer in the family portrait hanging in the cramped, airless, secret room underneath the creaking stairs. Then write a 400 word essay on the flirtatious play of morning light on the lustful crack in St. Patrick's Cathedral wall. Before Eve took a bite all was ever present eternity now everything after that is just our temptful thoughts - incessantly interupted by an endless series of single bites. Slender hands roll the grey-haired moon into its unmarked grave. The fledgling moon will be softly rebirthed between your zany thighs. The newborn moon is made of marshmallow. The famished mother takes a spiteful bite out of her squirmy baby's head. Can you tell I am avoiding talking about you? The April moon that chases the buffalo who gores the buttocks of the Buddha-astronaut who was stooping to examine the foamy hem of the sea with the eyes in the genital curtains that are blank with borrowed tears. If you deign to talk to him again, in the excitable throes of your mutual desiring, well-hid by etiquette and decorum, a single tear will slip from your morbidly dilating pupil. At which point, you will become his beddable tutee tied to the stake on a Tāmaki Makaurau traffic island. A man must kidnap a bride-to-be with goblet shaped breasts before they can be wed beneath a stelliferous empyrean. I'm still avoiding talking about you. But, then, maybe I've been talking about you all along. The coral branches tear into our skins as we make love for the first time. The coral branches pry open our bodies. The coral branches plunder our bodies of their wildest dreams. This is what happens when we suddenly remember the fragrant smell of our hyphenated surnames. Unzip your thrifted trousers and show me your predatory creature. I met her there on the stairs. "I'm mauving," she said, making a gesture of finger shushing by her womanly part. Wipe the fog from the bedroom mirror and tell me how you like to be read to aloud. Your cunt is a chameleon: one moment it is an open canyon, the next, it's an iridescent anther. An anther? The part of a stamen that contains the pollen. An anti-agression? A loving kiss. Let me cover your body with anti-agressions on the bare ground by the back stair. I can't believe you're allowing this... Your vagina: kaleidoscope chamber or roomful of teeth? Shall beauty not also have carnassial teeth? Oh, just let me fill your orifices with marshmallow. My love, pay no heed to my unfounded slander of your sovereign female person. Do not ever hear my bitter whispers in your sleep. I'm only poking fun at the deathless darkness. I wish you would believe me when I tell you my marrow is filled with love for you. You're blushing. Your lips are swollen red. Your eyes are black with poison. I want to lick the poison from your black eyes. It's such a shame you have your eyes closed. You're asleep. You're snoring softly... ZZZ-Zzzz-ZZzzz-hngGGggh-Ppbhww-zZZzzzZZ...