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“Where It Begins,” Fruits & Vegetables by Erica Jong (1971)

—> Hannibal edition

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Pursuit.

#girlblogging #sylvia plath #pursuit #poets on tumblr #poem #poetry #spilled poetry #spilled ink #rural gothic #spilled thoughts #confessional

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confined to these bone gates of heaven god rushes through me like water to the roots of a dying plant the leaves grasp for sunlight one last pray for help entrenched in skyfall i reach for my ceiling an ocean of perfect spirals circles drawn on my back childlike loops spun in my dainty pink gown water molecules swishing down the drain like blood abandoning my cheeks i forgo dinner swearing it is a sacrifice for god

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character

my room

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the other woman,

a nun,

she is bottled up parfum

In my sleep,

I found the perfume of perversion.

It possessed a coldness,

a slickness to it's scent

with the stickiness of waxiness,

belonging to church wood only,

that glossy varnish,

and

wet appearing lacquer

on the benches

that cools down the sin,

and the inverse incense,

poisoned with aphrodisiacs

and roses,

clouding up the judgement,

blushing,

In my dreams,

I found the perfume of sunshine.

Icy drips doused my heat and my anger,

like warm rain,

I confused the temperatures of everything outside of me with the heat of my skin,

kisses and touches

blessed my body like holy water,

protecting me from hot sky,

they kept my cool,

But when I pushed him away,

because I knew this was wrong,

I then watched him kiss and flirt with other girls scattered by his lap like dogs,

but he did it with the door un limiting,

towards his perverse expression,

transparent,

he pretended he wasn't looking to see if I was in sight of him,

but I was and what's worse,

it only made me want him more,

it broke the cross laying on my chest,

protecting the heart in-between my breasts,

and the snap,

it baptised me a whore,

Summer was a striptease and the Sun was it's owner,

inviting me in,

for this season of prostitution,

maybe I'll make it to the magazine,

this dream was my occult healer,

it was the attributes of all my unconscious needs,

and objects of my desires,

In my waking,

Sonny sends his recruits.

Raymond and Wyndham,

I'm perfectly plump for his pimp collection of girls, curves, with an air of woman.

Wind's creaking the door,

pushing it by a centimetre,

aura spilling in,

Rays moving from the gap,

to over the handle,

moving in bursts of eagerness,

Breeze and light

walk in on our love making,

door open

All the nudity

and vulnerability,

in the open

They stay for the orgasm,

sunny views are a silent audience

for the exhibition of this art process,

The sun

unravels his closed palm and graces the back of my neck with golden fingertips,

Sometimes he

comes in when the car window rolls down,

he times it,

he follows me around,

but he isn't just a stalker,

and if he is,

he must love me,

he

heats up the coffee on the garden table,

keeps it warm

and keeps me thirstier,

makes me want,

more

This dream was dirty and wrong,

I cannot tell anyone of it

but I craved most suddenly to have two fingers dipped into me like a jar of honey,

let the ribbons of amber juice spill out and trail down in our seat,

what goes on in the day is more revealing,

risky,

tempting,

the moon is for lovers in bed,

sun is for disgustingly beautiful sex,

in parks, on kitchen counters with the windows open,

loud, like birdsong that infiltrates the morning,

Everything is an act of sex,

you can be kind

and soft

like whipped batter from a cake,

lick the hurt off your love like

when you were innocent,

never left,

not a single drip,

of sugary whip on the spatula and whisk,

craving and unsparing,

Or like dark chocolate,

bitter for some,

cruel and impossible

or

delicious if that's your taste,

panting I hate you's,

between open mouthed kisses,

gripping bodies,

like you do shot glasses on those nights you sip the pleasure out of whiskey,

almost always only to forget,

This act was so perverse

and wrong,

this act of sex was a dream where my mind

showed me things I thought I don't think of,

where did it come from?

This hunger,

This thirst,

This need for body and blood?

The communion and vows of my unspoken desires,

asking me,

To allow to be fulfilled,

-MixedBrunette

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کی

sexual energy is life energy

and i have regressed into so much dirty tragedy

dark sex

dark tears

mature expression

in evening and nights

to make room for the brightness

i have died more than i have lived

to make room for all the life awaiting me

-MixedBrunette

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— David Cronenberg, Consumed

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