atypical eros

Two rounds

with Saturn, a classic cut

above my eye.

Red, green-yellow, blackish blue wound,

glimmering in hemo-luminosity.

Why is it all so bloodybeautiful?

Standing before

the fake-stone Buddha, white

in meta-silence.

Graciously receiving all the birdshit it deserves,

silently minding, as Vaihinger feared,

another case of "Bird Fancier's Lung".

Atypical Eros

with cross reactivity to yolk sac,

and getting sicker

by the moment (of naming things),

things that stand naked inside me,

naked in infinite love.

Fuck flattery

and bend to the swain of Gomorrah,

whose Byronic youth

would to you, tonight, so rend and cloy

the sacristy of Salome

with whitely silent truth.

Zeno's Paradox (The Down)

I did lose my common view
             amidst the closeness of your down.
Slight and fine as faerie breath,
             between swadhistan and nabhi.

Not that cherished tuft tomentum,
             crowning crest of lotus-lips,
But that softness, in above-ness,
             diaphanous, in sparse array.

Though truly rapt to breathe so near
             your oodhious aigrette canopy,
And coax your sacred delta's dew,
             unconstrained, I'd sip the dew in full ecstatic reverence.
But at this site of downy wisp,
             a kiss would seem most true.

I think no thoughts, though think they me
             a raging serous centrifuge.
My kiss: A heedless, formless equus,
             lame as Ovid's lorem ipsum.

Rapt, and doubtless, (unrequited),
             half the distance could I fly.
Half again and half again in hubric contrapedal love,
             unconstrained, I knew my math was un-Pythagorean.
My common view cannot recur, like Oodh, you've cancelled lesser fragrance.
             Once a condor, now forsaken only by the code of doves.