oh, renoir

friday's nocturne communique/nocturnal e-mission:
i will kiss the ass you've exposed to me

textual relations/e-ruptions
hold my head in yr hands like a fossil; the heart is deceitful above all things . . . who can know it? angels rush in where fools fear to tread. rush in and then rush out again. who can know them? when i met you there was no hair on yr chest and only shoulder blades on yr back. now a layer of downy white sprouts prostrate and supine. like the downy mildew emerging from flies careless and open. if i told you a secret, would you keep it? if i kept you, would you tell me a secret? would yr skin secrete musty oil in my favour? would my flavor be favourable to you? wrap yr arms around me. breathe yr breath around me. arm yr man to my side. man-sized. lay on me the guilty love of a mother. the moth-eaten blanket of yesteryear. the loss of protocol in the portico and how it meant it all. i respect you, but i respect myself more.

the crash of a belt buckle against yr jaw. the bit between yr teeth. a red welt rising against and to the surface of otherwise unmarred skin. was there something the child knew that i forgot?

fifty flights of flowered stairs. to hot air. to exhalation. to exaltation. to rendezvous.

the overgrown thickness of thickets where i took yr picture has all been cut down. the flower in yr face. petal-eyed, you cried.

in this coat i face fashion forward.

hearttraffic coming in is never as great as that going out.

LOOK!
stefanie posavec