sensuality
had me
inside her
wanting again
the recoil
of having
gone too far
and to go
entering
again.
only after
a few minutes.
no matter
the tormented
the warm flesh
to touch
and mingle
with my mouth
and teeth
gently nibbling
that which
my body swallows
never feeding
only. Always
hunger

the mind
within a locked room
makes itself
inescapable
labyrinths.

beyond
that corner
right there
of three
obtuse angles
in space.
(of where she once was)
passing
pulling
through out
the other side
having to pull itself along
at itself
between
lines
of the point
besides the point
the point being
the end.
a vanishing
point
pointed out
in her
thorough
pressure.
that empty grip
of her going
leaving nothing but being
quite tense.
enough to follow her
point by point
at this point
the sharpest
to be cut
by it
through it
out of it
onto the sidewalk
where she fell
in cracks.

a sense of privacy..
there’s a child playing with garters
bedsheets over a slain lamb
roundrobin to a guilty place
and a man arches his back.
the raised brow of a wall
belonging and longing
a sigh of rattles and cribs empty.
the priest walks into a bar
and with a tremor orders
“A Virgin-sorry-a bloody Mary”.
melting glass on skin
there’s wax underneath her nails
a candle gripping slipping
slinking down her curves.
blown out smoke choking carousel,
there’s a door playing house
king Queen and Jack’s tumble
spinning out stitches of wick
and a stained chandelier thrusts
denying and spying.
the whore smiles to a waitress
“give me an orgasm on the rocks.”
and the crowds the nervous child,
mommy pours out daddy.
a routine of the unexpected
headline to boiling water,
screaming laughter.
a sense of this
a sense.