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Lust in 7 Questions


In what manner is the thirst for the river of his mouth, the pleasure of his salted fingertips, of the same origin as the endless grief to which this body was born?


How does this lower lip blossom, these shining lashes lengthen, skin grow soft and damp while stricken eyes darken at the first moment of his presence?


Why does he not see?


What are ethics, precepts, preconceptions, compared to one long midnight in a room high above a sleeping city, dawn a coy witness to wilted sheets, silk ties hanging like confetti from the bedpost, thighs bruised from a wanting that cannot be granted?


How does one remain embodied knowing touch will never come?


Sometimes when a woman reaches an apex, which is both an expansion and a receiving, the arches and the palms will coil and cramp, like a bird caged too long. And what are my feet, to him?


I heard his voice before I saw him. And now it is all I hear. Does the hunger rise from his dark and ancient beauty, my shining Roman coin, or from his indifference to my own?