CHIAROSCURO
-
Your hand and its physical touch
fuschia as you brush
The inside
of desire and nothing
I'll say it
on the skin of your tongue
Name and unname
your eyes and their silent ether
Because this glistens
at the pit of my experience
And until you acquiesce
I'll think
Always
of your opening
PHOSPHOROUS
-
I had been using my body
its beads and pigments
terraformed
a landscape
of sack cloth and ashes
You scratch
for as long as you feel
nothing
We are dealing with words
the shameless mass
our bastard
its fluoresence
the subterfuge of hens
Bury your face in my hands
your sweaty ringlets
a rhetorical bloom