Song of Desire

August 31, 2015

 

 

 

Song of Desire

 

(mi canción del deseo)

 

when I realized the actuality of your being was a perceptible idea

but not a tangible emotion I left…

I left our playground…

our temple ….

our palace of sensuality ….

I surrendered

to your vanishing glaze as I watched it fall

upon the bloom of full cheeks

and the blush of a rose…

bittersweet the scent of blood….the concept of youth…

 

Memory has a touch….

an impression that words cannot embrace…

our derivative pleasure of mythological desire

was a construct of shadowy words

whose impressions only left me wanting more….

one cannot appease an appetite with illusions

and this avid thirst I had for you only left my lips

parched and impatient….

no moist kiss of attainment ….

but still……the need …..the urge….the wish….

 

Forgive me for wanting the idea of you…

from scattered phrases of our conversations….

the song of your ebony beak….

the apparent expressions of our presences and desertions….

the dominion of our sensualistic lexicon which released

a glossary of our imagination….

During this interval my personal narrative

 of guttural pleasure lays scattered

amongst this unhallowed paradise…

 

I sense beneath your darkness a keen vision….

a piercing gaze…your obscure objects of desire….

being in the eye of your desire never taught me

what exactly your inclination was….

desire is never without the projection of want…

life wanting itself through the movement of desiring…

and yet……the true object of our craving may not have been

what we necessarily thought in the beginning…

We do not always know what we want…

desire is mysterious….

divine dimensions of hunger…

desire which gives birth to this lubricating lucidity  ___

life cannot be divided between the sacred and the profane….

I bow my head in shamelessly celebration of

what was our sweet force of lust and undeniable pleasure….

The coronation of my tail with your black feathers….

the claw impaled within …the gold emptying….the water

of want and the white milk you made from my blood…

 

Your fallen whip of black thorns…

the weeping of my body…

the fire that never finds its blaze…

 

Desire is the essence of life….it is how life began…

It is where we started…

 

_______ In a shadowy inked cavity….…a cavern….tenebrous den….

where dark skinned birds with beaked apertures watch….

where the hollow are probed…..the holy are indecent and blasphemous…..

where you and I ……can only whisper who we might have been…

 

 

©Gesso Cocteau

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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