Beneath the Skin of History

In the throes of fucking, we come undone. Pink nipples while eating sushi from the torsos of whores. Veins full of tiny voices. Head-soaked lullabies while King Girl chases the dragon. Blood between her legs, and the way those eyes blink so pretty. So much suffering in an age of imperfection. In the eye of the needle. Cleopatra’s needle. As hard and as long as I am, your body breaks beneath my hands. From Egypt to Rome. From Tunisia to the streets of Soho, they look and taste the same wherever you go. Grapes to make the pain more bearable. Beer as arterial spray coats a virgin with some other kind of veil. Tied hands to the bedpost. Tied intestines and spermicide as her lips turn the colour of a lake. Drunken footsteps in the snow. Cutting throats as black swans creep upon autumn leaves. We give birth to tomorrow. Uterus. Tubes. Subways and riddled minds. Elephant man with thoughts the shape of her breasts. This generation knows everything about looks, but nothing about the soul. The human anatomy matters little to me. Flesh holds no poetry, only the memory of our embrace can ever be beautiful. A full moon flowing like oil from a car wreck. Fumes intoxicating. The scent of your heat slicing my spine, with minds ready for drowning. Sunken livers mashed together with crunching universes that sing songs of dislocated shoulders. Smother your face. Bend your arms back. Spreading muscles and smiles as the clock strikes 4 am. Buried in a bath of sand. Big brown eyes gazing in the mirror as bedsheets house collapsing acts. Just like a baby, and smelling of strawberries covered with cream. All things fresh, and all things obscene. Catching stars and handfuls of rain. Thunder rolling in the distance, there’s just no way of telling where the beginning is. Red gums. Smooth hips. Tiger face and ballet pumps. Lucid desires at the foot of your bed. Give birth to an age of malevolence. Struggle like a phantom. A phantom red with rage.

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