8/Gin & Tonic

& If I touch you with my savage lust
It is, Madonna, the seizure of passion,
flare of tumultuous light—

But disbelieving, you stalk back to your hidden lair
denying all: the flock of wings, tapestry of traps
& most, the cool cool fulminance of Aphrodite—
snapping at legends of guitars, desire!
What invites this chilblained surveying?
That mangled bodies shall themselves reconstruct
the altars of time, synagogues of ancient blood.
Grip your icy throat to weep—forever—
the fabular affairs with Tartars.
Your tongue to fan the rebellion of fire
that gnaws—& will always gnaw—
Your once-child heart
Shattered on evenings of belfry?

Yes, you’ve known to the core the trail of typhoons
paw of beasts, coil of pythons, crash of idols
& most, the piracy of flowers & scrolls.

But disbelieving, you mount the spiral of stairs
to review, at the zenith, all: eyes, limbs, letters, hot hands
all dreams of beauty, all gestures of love,
all vanities of hope, all reasons of songs & designs:
“I cannot fathom this love that assaults like rock!”

Softly, you stuff your heart in your acid mouth
Scoop the rain of tears, drink it with our blood,
& about your body, stonework of silence you construct.

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