It all comes down to something elemental.
It felt like a cigarette, lines clean and straight at first- but then curling relentlessly into the dark beyond the porch lamp. Huddled against the frigid like a block of impervious ice, like a perpetual virgin drilling into the black with the precision of a sadistic dentist. It was there, in the cone of light, deep in everyone else's night, that I began my true striptease.
You think a striptease is a visual undressing of skin; the removal of layers of cloth from human flesh. Layer by layer shed like an onion in the drying summer heat- I am no Gypsy Lee and all I can say is that I am less rose and more private jest. I will take off the first pair of tights and let you see the second. Perhaps you will find more sport at your most cherished bar.
Beyond the second pair of tights there is a third, and a fourth and beyond that there is the subterfuge of clever words to distract the eye, even when there is nothing left. The skin is hidden behind the brightest light.
There is always something left.
This husky undertone is nothing more than my most dramatic attempt to drape what is plain in floral petals and time falling across the windows like sleet.
Bach can only shield the spirit so much from the appetites of man.
At some point you see your own layers drop like parchment at the tombs of kings as though it was as insignificant as dying for a second time.
Instead of this play let's peel our onions as though they were stand-ins for everything we have become: sharp crisp wits with dirt caked against our first skin. Honest with a twist of dark truth rasping at the core that will shortly be cut out with a freshly sharpened knife. Take my hand, let's rumba past this mark! Move as though you were born with liquid limbs.
The heat is adequate and the sweetness will follow.
Let everything go. It will become what you need it to. Let it drift into the room like everything you already knew and expected but let the words still fit into the expected shapes and remind you who you are.
This fog is nothing. I am clear. I am vivid. Like purpose.
Like layers of love before the oil is spread with heat. Before the administration of salt and fear.
I will wear you like a badge of honor because there is nothing left.
Besides the layers of what is left.
It all comes down to something elemental.
Like hunger.
This is hunger.
Feed.
You think a striptease is a visual undressing of skin; the removal of layers of cloth from human flesh. Layer by layer shed like an onion in the drying summer heat- I am no Gypsy Lee and all I can say is that I am less rose and more private jest. I will take off the first pair of tights and let you see the second. Perhaps you will find more sport at your most cherished bar.
Beyond the second pair of tights there is a third, and a fourth and beyond that there is the subterfuge of clever words to distract the eye, even when there is nothing left. The skin is hidden behind the brightest light.
There is always something left.
This husky undertone is nothing more than my most dramatic attempt to drape what is plain in floral petals and time falling across the windows like sleet.
Bach can only shield the spirit so much from the appetites of man.
At some point you see your own layers drop like parchment at the tombs of kings as though it was as insignificant as dying for a second time.
Instead of this play let's peel our onions as though they were stand-ins for everything we have become: sharp crisp wits with dirt caked against our first skin. Honest with a twist of dark truth rasping at the core that will shortly be cut out with a freshly sharpened knife. Take my hand, let's rumba past this mark! Move as though you were born with liquid limbs.
The heat is adequate and the sweetness will follow.
Let everything go. It will become what you need it to. Let it drift into the room like everything you already knew and expected but let the words still fit into the expected shapes and remind you who you are.
This fog is nothing. I am clear. I am vivid. Like purpose.
Like layers of love before the oil is spread with heat. Before the administration of salt and fear.
I will wear you like a badge of honor because there is nothing left.
Besides the layers of what is left.
It all comes down to something elemental.
Like hunger.
This is hunger.
Feed.