my sex in your mouth like
summer melting glass over steel city buildings
but i know better
that all we ever truly seek
to erect is
knowledge.
that the only real stimulation
is a taste of the torture of desire inside
a mind that finds its own reflection beautiful
in the awe struck through it by
wondering at the strangeness of
another;
a
twisted creature as
mad as
we.
the glory of art,
the hunger of passion,
the fall and rise of the crave to give and receive pleasure,
is ultimately a swimming out
toward fear
in the heavy hopes of
getting beyond it to a
place of peace.
you before me with your face
and your tears in my
hands.
we seek to know how to save
ourselves, how to release ourselves of
something we must break free of, some flawed way of thinking or being from which we
seek absolution.
we want to know, ultimately, intimately, in raw human form,
the gripping power of our own
divine mystery.
we want to be one with the Self beyond the self,
the Self that is free of these bodies we
obsess over, these alien bodies with their demented burning needs and their curious imperfections.
art and sex are creative
acts of faith, acts of defiance,
little spinning feathers of death.
the blood and sweat,
the pulse of this life,
the advancing pursuit of
solace,
is
treachery.
~ Allison Marie Conway ~
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My book of poetry, Vein, is now available on Amazon here.
Signed copies are available in my Etsy shop AllisonMariePoetry here.
All my deepest love and mad affection. x