On our wedding night we shared secrets
like truths unblocked to build trust. Secrets are
tumors growing in the bond, we laughed.
I unsealed this long cached feeling: how once
upon a sumptuous moon I played prairie to wild horses:
how with lights out this girl I met,
all search and galloping focus,
bounced like a jockey on my chest,
while my palms circled her globe
her flashing cheeks, smooth as Eve's apples.
Ceramic hands on clay reach no such paradise
or peak; nor sculptors' hammers.
That night we felt some unintended tissue tearing, It happened
long time ago, I sighed. Our wedding bands delinked, It meant
nothing really, I tried. Beauty of flesh, not heart.
Now in our bedroom (ceiling-fanned) the light stays on, she insists,
"I want to see your face." Her eyes, upstaring in redress, urge
Give me babies I will love stronger than you.
My fingers grip and I comply; penitent, unhurried, the head
down seed bull ploughing; at the mercy of her whipholding clit.
She's good with the kids, I should tell you
- W.W.
HOME
While you are away, I prepare
for your return by taking, out
of the cage that even the most
sacred contract could not but spore
and vein and muscle, yet one more
passage like a tongue of the sun
that leaps and dips, stretches and sucks,
draining and refilling its glass.
So I clean our house by leaving
it behind, so stamp our contract
by breaking it, and so prepare
for the return of two strangers
to the open strangeness of a cage
dismantled like a stage swept clean
in readiness for its next play
in which strangers' hearts, tongues of fire,
meet, connect and lock, unlock and let
loose, explore and find, and give away.
(from "Gift Of Screws" by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 