Just accidentally hit the delete button.

behind pleasure, pain–
another pain

desires not just
your flesh,

but ability

someone still feels

inside out, outside in;

hasn’t given up
loving even pain

out of necessity

genius
of feeling, while

cell walls
shape to
habits of
closure

stitching wounds.

body, may you
always desire.

a kind of
religion?

belief (faith)

in touch,
sigh, surrender,
control, letting
go?

but no

the hardest
thing is

just
to break open

become
nothing

wasn’t expecting
this knot of light

unsheathed

some kisses are
sweeter than wine

* breathy, breathing, long periods of silence
* one thread to connect head to earth-sexes
* considering hers. gaps, even so. just so.

* close the gaps, just talking anyway
* better take dictation. fleshy rosetta stone
* there is no shorthand, i’ve learned. no system

* let me touch the fissures
* what do you WANT, what?

* forgot about “imperfections.” connected dots
* toes cramp–smooth them; i’m an animal
* take a drink. drink this. no need to talk.

* sink-in-to-the-mud-tired.

How breathable it is:
hands, flame, comma
How like a bellows
of nostalgia

we’re all dis-
embodied here
on “voice” mail I
get the picture
what you can’t
bear becomes
power play you
don’t want to
cross that border
do you? hah.
hah. hah.

wanting to be helpless
before this language

invisible fingers around
my throat

can you feel that. it’s
moving inside.

better to listen

“get a new skin
try one” — pain

before pleasure
living in alien

furs. choosing
for the first time

because you
are not

what

you once
thought

you
were

“The path is writing and writing is a body and a body is bodies (the grove of trees). Just as meaning appears beyond writing, as though it were the destination, the end of the road (an end that ceases to be an end the moment we arrive there, a meaning that vanishes the moment we state it), so the body first appears to our eye as a perfect totality, and yet it too proves to be intangible: the body is always somewhere beyond the body. On touching it, it divides itself (like a text) into portions that are momentary sensations: a sensation that is a perception of a thigh, an earlobe, a nipple, a fingernail, a warm patch of groin, the hollow in the throat like the beginning of a twilight. The body that we embrace is a river of metamorphoses, a continual division, a flowing of visions, a quartered body whose pieces scatter, disperse, come back together again with the intensity of a flash of lightning hurtling toward a white black white fixity. A fixity that is destroyed in another black white black flash; the body is the place marking the disappearance of the body. Reconcilitation with the body culminates in the annihilation of the body (the meaning). Every body is a language that vanishes at the moment of absolute plenitude; on reaching the state of incandescence, every language reveals itself to be an unintelligible body. The word is a disincarnation of the world in search of its meaning; and an incarnation: a destruction of meaning, a return to the body. Poetry is corporeal: the reverse of names.”

Octavio Paz, The Monkey Grammarian, Chapter 26

via Hokai Sobol, “Path Writing Body.”

will
it be
“me” who will

miss
you, or
the flesh still

pliant
for what
it never contained?