Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Does anything exist beyond the fire's glow? There are
walls, surely, for a ceiling lingers above our writhing bodies as if
waiting for the moment our guard is down. It may well pounce upon
our prone, exposed forms as would the tiger whose pelt rests before
the fireplace, and as we ourselves pounced upon that pelt to soil
it with sweat and saliva. Our teeth and tongues inventory scars, map
the Braille of our bodies' memories. Our lips and fingers chronicle orgasms.
The smoky odor lends to this dim room a sense of authenticity which somehow
augments the carnal nature of our surroundings. Are the tiger's teeth still
sharp enough to bleed us to defenselessness? We test them, deciding they have been
filed down in order to avoid lawsuits. We are exhibitionists: heads
line the walls, eyes glassy not so much from replacement as from being
dazed by their decapitation. Their judgments are passed among themselves
in silence while you massage my flesh with powdered borax. Their warnings are
mute--as if their jaws were wired shut--when you force your injection
into my tail: glycol ethers, or some other solution-based preservative.
Remove my brain with a pitiless blade. Your needle is not yet through
penetrating me: stitch my flesh from end to end, shaping my form to fit your
desires. Stuff me full of your sawdust, but don't forget to leave me slack. There
must be enough room for you to slide in, unlubricated, and swivel your hips,
draw your shoulders back in crossbow fashion to thrust your *** through
mine. Is my skin not dark and sleek with these preservatives? Is my sex
not full of permanence? With these appendages you may spread wide your
reach to ensnare hundreds more lovers, and with these eyes assert
the dominance of those who are upright over those on all fours, and with these
fingers ignite conflagrations which will consume every night. The extinction
of darkness would be a crime against humanity to break all records and precedents,
save for the fact that you can use these large, abominable hands of mine
to taxidermy the night sky and drape its flesh over the Earth, a canopy
concealing untold *** and abandon from the wet eyes of the Divine. Those are
sockets you might yet fill another day, when, after prying the Pearly Gates apart
to make yourself at home between them, you grope the face of Divinity with a blind artist's precision
..glass eyes at the ready.