A Sensual Meditation

… a lyrical confession

The sense begins inching towards faces, towards the lines and the variations and the races. The pull is for an attachment to a certain kind of feeling. Emotion yearns the cells to grab onto another and wrap themselves in embrace. Attempting the entrée and liking the taste that it leaves behind. Ideas scatter – lost in clutter and the chatter all around. What’s good is what drives, what pushes back and closes upon – sensations of cloud nine and frenzied passion. Desire? In this while and for moments nothing else seems to satiate. Rugged motions towards flat and senseless passions. My eye darts and consumes figures, curves and fingertips upon skin. Bleeding in my heart the yearning for filling and intention to hug and destroy. Yet, I don’t want what I want. I’d prefer the bare minimum if I could partake of the flesh without drawing blood. Biting my lower lip I shut my eyes and disappear into truth and lies – bearing no thought to the conscience. If I could rip my insides and bury the bones I’d be free. Structure instructs but a formless self slides into the river and fades into a myth. I can’t fix myself so I let go of the string of realities around me, expectations, dependencies. I swim with the turtles.

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