| Velveteen Smithereen I told you that I want to unpeel you (a pearl or an onion) to the column of your spine and then to the fluid inside the vertebrae. You didn�t think it a come on. What if I told you that I want you to help me turn an aspen forest pink by stretching strips of your skin over the bark and bolting them down? Layer over layer? For you I will invent the stupidest smile, and send it by carrier pigeon. You won�t know if the picket line (so delicate with quiet that you could hear a firefly swallow) protests the smile, or guards it. Now, all that�s between you skin and spine remains. Tell me, when my fingers touch your palm, do you feel it behind your ear? What is the smell of your left wrist held in suede? If that restraint pulls away from your ankle, what color are my fingertips trailing up your left side, tenderly strumming your ribs? How wet is the kiss of a leather strap across your hips? With my breath to the side of your neck, you�ll forget the color of your own eyes. If you tell anyone about this visit, I�ll be sure they find out how much you enjoyed it. |