I swear I smell, or sense, the sweat

The sconces were extinguished
Minutes ago
A theatrical eternity

Two hundred punters holding breaths
In creaking seats
Embarassed blushes creeping up coughing faces

In the space of what could be two turns
Two invisible figures have turned this hall
Into a church
Pulling penitence from petitioners

But we sin now in the dark
Our mouths full wet, bathed in anticipation
Like dogs trained at night
Slavering in silence

Somewhere in labyrinthine caverns
A stage hand slices our darkness
With a light
Dim and violent in its subtlety

A light now that, though pale,
Destroys my eyes
Our eyes
Four hundred eyes
Tearing deep to the back of each dewy globe

The curtain, once cooled in black,
Now echoes deepest ochre
Shocks through still heads and licking lips

I assume every man in every creaking seat
Sits as I
Two middle fingers in absent minded fondling,
Through trousers, against a thumb
Parted lips parched
With rivulets of sweat making way down my trunk
From the crook of my arm at the shoulder
To the crease of my waist at the thigh

I swear I can smell, or sense,
My own sweet milks
Soaking in pools on creaking seats

And there
Standing at impossible edges
Too far apart to take in at once…

Two proud caryatids
Grecian queens
Twin hespers twinkling
In complete starkness

Each unadorned,
Save spit-black eyes,
Lips red with carmine

Four glassy eyes span stage expanses
Silently devouring each other improperly
With imponderable energy

Two suggestive statues loving each other
At impossible distances
Forcing two hundred crazed souls to scream in silence
“Meet! Damn you to Hell!  Meet!”

Twin footlit lovers
Made of milk and stone
And tiny pink nipples
And black thatches that I swear or sense or smell are wet
Rivulets of sweat and sweet milks
Making way toward four knees
Droplets sliding between squeezed-together thighs

I swear I’ll kill them if they don’t move

Silence sounds pound my ears
Two hundred agonizing heads filled with ache
And hate
The hate that informs the lust that boils
In two hundred hearts
Causing them to eek out thumps that cry
“For me! Dammit!  If not for her, for me!”

And somewhere in the belly of this place
Some foul infidel drags bow on strings
Setting strains on acrid air
To be collected by four hundred angry ears
To pierce parched flesh

Paganini, debauched and deliberate,
Races into veins like morphine
And four milk-stone arms move slowly
Killing splendid pain

Ten slender fingers probe vacuums
Another ten clutch at nothing
What circumstances, my loves, what time,
What dimension…keeps you apart?

And I cannot choose
Which to lay eyes on
On which of the equal pleasures to spend my time
And I cannot see them both at once
Separated as they are
By distances calculated by lovers
Bent on wrenching frustrations
From two hundred furious voyeurs

But as four arms reach, now, across chasms of
Space and circumstance
Four hundred eyes are drawn to ochre curtains
Where centerstage shadows show
Twenty linking fingers
Four hands embraced in dances
Trembling touches and
The minute evidence of electricity

Not allaying lusts, two lovers meet in dreams
Shadowy dreams existing in ether
Larger still than any of us, all of us, together
Black absences intertwined in thirty foot tableaus
On ochre velvets

Savage strains carry savage sex
From violins in lustful cadence
Shadowy tongues lick pricked nipples
Murderous hands pull apart legs, thighs, buttocks
And drag five knifing nails
Up milk-stone hips

And somewhere in the hollow of this place
One hand, one baton,
Flailing frantically in darkness,
Extracts crescendo

Twin whores now – savage acrobats

Look at one, I say, and you’ll know less than half
Peer between them, now, where orgasmic explosions
Splash across velvet folds
Drenching two hundred laps
Two aching lovers converging complications
And hands and legs and arms
On ochre screens in gasps and sobs

Semblances thrust together now
As if in deep, temporal ways
But made more real
By our wishes of their wishes

One caryatid now turned topsy
Legs parted overhead
Thighs shivering kicking legs
An akimbo constellation of ecstatic seizures
Hung mid-air like


The other stands as a strong man
Delivering boastful brags with arms hooked upward
Fists in clench
Her mouth agape in shock
Her tongue in slavering spasms
Lapping at lunacy and kicking legs in shadow


Together on velvet
Two soloists become a frantic duet
Shattering distance
Erasing circumstance
Delivering an epic lashing of tongue on quim
Shaking the shadows pale with pleasure

And collapse in final moments
In large and tiny deaths
As the most solemn strain of all
Becomes a single stinging note

And blackness

The uneasy distance between the black
And the applause of four hundred hands
Thunders life into two hundred heads

Our rage, our release, our lusty cheers
Will surely bring lovers together, actually
Placing fleshy hand in fleshy hand
In the nakedest of bows and roses

But as the lime is lit again
Only one foul infidel
The decadent dandy with his violin at his side
Dares to take the call

I swear I smell or sense the sweat
Exchanged by tongues in dim dressing rooms
As in the hall our accolades cause trembling in creaky seats
And somewhere in the belly of this place
Two lovers absolute and bodily
Annihilate each other with lewd polishing
And clawing healthy portions of quim and jaw
And knocking teeth on napes and licking tears

Denying two hundred punters the finale
The encore is held in private
While we fall over ourselves, amazed at actresses
Extracting from us our molten lust
And praises fall in muteness after theatrical eternities
We hope at best to gain a creaky seat
For tomorrow’s ballet of sapphic shadows
A ticket to take in feral pageantry again
And shove again this exhibition into our veins