eastern sun
hungry little creature
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2005
- Posts
- 2,703
I don't know what it looks like but
It feels like sweet surrender,
Where, on a soft pillow
Of deep feather-light sadness
You lie perfectly
Exquisitely...
Still.
This is beautiful, Damian. But not at all what I imagined would lie on the other side of shame.
I imagine the mating of animals. The chase leading to passion, pinned and panting, teeth embedded in the neck, as the shape of each form dissolves into sound and movement, like the gang-rape of sparrows, or the anguished night-cries of cats.
Nothing still. Nothing silent.
There is that moment when we've crossed those lines, when the pain of knowing we've denied ourselves strikes like a tender knife at the heart-core. Is that the moment you're describing?
When I've moved into those areas on my own, though, I've found nothing tender. Nothing exquisite. Just the piggish rut of greedy hunger, liquid flowing from my mouth and thighs, washing every act in waves of unspent longing. There is no sweetness in that greed. Just the ripping of the seams of our little life to expose the pink and viscous underbelly.
My slime will stain that tender pillow, and sticky-up those downy feathers, until free flight is impossible. And all I can do is crawl to you, sweet man. Crawl to you.

ing you, Stella.