Flesh

Flesh is
like dough. Knead it.
Let it yield beneath your
fingers. Brand it with your palm. Leave
a scar.

Lust

At the thought of you
I lick my lips, see you scarred
scarlet with love-bites,
red-raw, pockmarked, blistered by
my hot, wanton, wanting eyes

Gluttony

There is no such thing
as too much chocolate cake
you say sticky-mouthed
while I lie back sated, still
demanding another round

Sloth

You don't notice clothes
carelessly discarded, my
bed unmade, as I
straddle you naked, moist mouth
pressed to your ear, pouring filth

Choose jazz

because life should be
like the melody of a Coltrane solo
rising and falling like the rolling ohs
of a multiple orgasm
like the shrill scream of Miles' trumpet
echoing the sound of a hundred hearts
bursting with uncontainable joy

like the heart-shredding growl
of Lady Day scraping your throat raw
with the blues
the smooth, suave scat of Ella
dobedooing a whole new swing
to a standard love song

like that one song filtered through the feelings
of a million and one different people
dividing like pure white light through crystal
into infinite harmonies

Choose jazz
because life should be
like a song you've heard before
only different
only different
only different
everytime.

Between us

Last orders at the bar
six vodka's down and we're deep-talking
you're giving me your formula for world peace
I'm making a study of you, so I don't forget

You pose an argument
I counter it
tracing the outline of your face
with invisible fingers

You explain the error in my logic
I concur -grudgingly
noting the way your voice ranges
in tone and depth like a palette of blues

Do you know that
your eyes change colour
with your passions
paling and darkening like mood-stones

As we stand here trading opinions
only our words link hands
a bridge for distance neither you nor I
has tried to cross yet

In some other-world, maybe
our lips have just met
and there's nothing between us
but intermingled breath