Out here in the Southern
woods two hundred miles away, forest, brush fires tittering, tent stakes and
long leaf pines wavering in the crepuscular gray. She and him on a bare blanket, a circle of
flagstones heat for the temperature of night falling, gliding panties down
across thighs like dilating heavens.
Orange sun lemon
drop swirling pink mist as the horizon licks the orb clean. Secluded water melon patch lush burst vines in
the alcove of night approaching a horizontal spine. The sway of trunks flush in autumn clutch
brushing the folded troposphere soiled hands gripping lips with old Mississippi
Blues guitar hands. Tested crackled
callused range of experienced fingers rough from the path and tender at the
tip, delicate to pluck the chord aching to be struck, a melody of
reverberation, vibration, bass guitar and harmonica sass tongue hum, Junior
Kimbrough and Muddy Waters, north hill country blues dirty and juke joint, a fat
opossum all-star on the lick, the crossroads ghost of Robert Johnson ready to
make love in rhythm to hum with bulbous lips Hoochie Coochie feathered duet,
the setting kiln of fire in the spread of the sky goddess, puffed and shaven of
the day encouraging in twilight rain sponge, modal and undulating in a wave of
sky buttocks arched goading the lunar gyration to be gripped with workman hands,
strong, firm, and dominant.
Moon thrusts, thrusts,
and seeks the song of his mouth, to find repose in the rhythm, to surrender sun
to the vulnerable bastion of the lunar to wax across shadowed cloth eternal
glorious illuminated reflection of the thigh gates stripping sensations of
oxytocin engulfing zone to brain of the universe like cerebral lighting veins
across the sky from parting legs to goddess strewn and crackling thunder struck
clenching her fingers into clouded sheets of Earth pillow soft and wrenching
the rain to explode upon the forest, a deluge of sensation as the rumpus tongue
strokes and strokes and strokes, blues country testament ballsy and rhythmic
building, building, until the face, the night sugar sweet trouble of moan goes
farther and farther past boreal orchestra into dark-skinned Mozart cunilingus.
She and he like
wolves, her howling into the echo of firelight.
Him muffled and grunting, guttural canine rough-patched and tongue-tied
with the mouth of the world. Fencing
duel, wet like walrus tusks prodigious jaw adept at motioning with her movements. Pert breasts kept under blouse, sweater and
the chill of November clawing to rip fabric and his eyes peer into the darkness
bolted against her skin the nest-like muff rustling his mustache. Everything is open in the dark. Huffing-pant ex and inhales like a beast is
rising out of his arched back lycanthrope devouring her. Beads of fear and ecstasy drip in the cold
heat of the vampiric-hour that the fear of the unknown of what might rampage
careening out of these woods with the no one but them becomes an animalistic
voyeurism. The bucks stamp hoofs to rut
antlers against trunks. Bears knock over
timber to slam honeycombs from branch to the ground to lick honey and stinger
after stinger. He doesn’t speak English
anymore, only tongue and mouth, a hirsute upper lip and the taste of her on
this tongue in a beast that still looks hungry.
Surrender pause echo
silence to staccato inhales held, inhaled and held with no audible release but
the eek muted vibration of tasting opioid brain waves undulating like entering
a hibernation of mind burrowing into the cavern of a body, exiting the skyline,
the blanket over roots and held in the quiet of succumbed tongue given felled
parry to his rapier in her inner space, the swell of the clitoral wishbone’s
radiating tingle in nature’s ocean where sound no longer exists.
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