13/09/2007

You must learn to love the lines of my suit
my crisply ironed shirt
and the shine of my shoes
for I have reconfigured dignity, here,
on this leather couch,
where I once thrust through your breathless words,
my hands on your Eden waist,
my mouth on your Eden neck.

I am seated, suited, clean and crisp,
gentleman replaces gentle man,
and there is nothing to fear from serpents or gods
When your hair is combed
and your soul is a pocket watch

You must learn to love the codes of my habit,
the figures and calculations of my bank statements and pay packages
all my economic estimations and rituals of cost,
for I am no longer wild in a glass,
pouring my spirit down my throat,
singing till the taste of blood.

No,
I am kept and coiled,
arranged and flush with measurement,
and I am seated here on this couch of sweat and lipstick and cum
to pronounce on beauty...

Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder
Beauty is a calculation of loss.