Words Made Flesh

Here
is my hand
cool word curled
around the curvature
of your neck.

Here
my lips
soft, moist letters
plumped with desire
pressing, half parted
against your cheek.

And here
my cunt
abstracted, weeping
signifier of need,
along  your upper thigh

Lust
spelled out with
such desperation
no differance can
squeak through

Between
my words
and your body;
between my call
and your response

I’ll lick
you into dissolution
with my native tongue
until no drop
of juissance
remains.

* * *

Inspired by Thomas John Bacon’s journal article abstract for
Traces of Being: a document of absence in words