CLOSE WINDOW
EXEDRA
All these conclusions about the lack of something, the shafts of light, the shifts of desire, with eyes closed your initial warm kisses caught me looking, how much the gesture, each contour of your blossoming skin, firm lines made pink across the brawn and furrows, the salt, the lofty tone of flesh, as I left to eradicate the antonyms of becoming here—and living there endless, the glass brick melting. In the dream our tribe was called Equivocal, Irreparable, and I could hardly get this hand around your phallus: repeating Mud Dog Mother to myself —while the water of the bodies in the earth evaporated.
Amulet | Anatomy
by Roberto Tejada
(2002)
Cover by Thomas Glassford
