what is it to miss?

 

 

 

What is sex. That is, what is it to wait for like your turn on the curb where the

rind of the silver melon is eaten and then trusted, because antinomian faith is all

that is useful. Or that inner bark or collection of cloned DNA fragments that

are maintained in their suitable juices. Does it undergo training to achieve

a liscence since it is kept in a safe?

 

Does it disregard the strict rules of correctness, lying on some European beach

or when the mini-dress is near? Does it taste like a salt spring, and please

don't give me that psychoanalytic theory bullshit about biological urges

or that self-preservation prevaricate. I'm talking about those Apple-Bottom jeans

 

obligated to render feudal allegiance and service for my tribal, antiarrhythmic

libertarian salvation, that used to hang off the edge of my bed like a tongue

over a river. Or that scent of Victorian radar that emits pulsed laser light

or those pantyhose

 

that run and ran to those temperate regions just to sprout those heart shaped,

cordate leaves and those winglike bracts that attached themselves to the peduncle

of the flower-knee. I missed you far more than I can whisper.

I asked your mother, who I do-not like, where you were

and she wouldn't tell me.

 

I missed your dancing in bare feet, your two vectors equaling the sum

of the images as outlines  of Earth-Wind-and-Fire.

I miss the notable figure who is conspicuously lacking in heroic

qualities that I am. I miss the river.

 

Do they call sex those essential oils that they use

in soaps in that imaginary parallel of shower

and waterfall? If so,

I don't.

Reviews

[Corset]

lol, Oh Dana, you know you would not be expected to live up to some kind of super human fantasy write, no, you would be a tender plucking of a dandelion turned white and ripe for the river bank blowing of wishes come true.

[writing mojo]

Your questing descriptive matter on the eulogy and essence of sex, is quite amazing! You have such a a knack and weaving your sentence nets, words like fishes flutter around, yet remember each imprinted electric pulse in mu vertebrae, to school, by science, never taught, and in each air bladder oxygen bouquet they supply the co2 flow within each captured line of being caught up this way ..dana it's always an honor to enter your world...