Musth

I am harried by your eyes,
As I rub mine, tired and late,
Longing for their lidded bedspread.
I am goaded by that soft pout, that parting...

I cannot sleep,
I cannot sleep, though I need to.
The abacus of order is broken,
I skate and stumble, I grope on the floor for the scattering beads
Head cracking, the undersides of tables,
Shin smart and toe stub.
A mutiny is whispering up from deep in the hold.
A spirit of the bilge
Takes a club to the finer instruments,
Cable parting, cord ripping.

That sideways dusky glance
Is branded on my mind eye.
The distilled essence of everything I could want or wish for is contained
In that wet cosmos.
I become a singular form of steel attention:
Instantaneous fusion heavy,
Thunder struck to the rare
Magnet of your erotic core.

You cast a look that devastates timespace.
At the table head you are throned,
Light seems to elevate you, well held, arranged and poised.
My lips are brought to table by glistening slaves
To the clarion of guilded trumpets
On a vast ornate salver,
Bedded in split and watering fruits,
Bathed in honey and milk and sweetened oils.
Seeking for the coattails of your whim.
They wait.

I yield to your dark weapon
I give myself over to the plunging vortex,
Gulping the viscous musk
As I fall far beneath hunger,
Greedy for amniosis
My loins rage and clatter, butt the close and fetid walls.
Deep in the well, of my animal root.
Rabid yammering frenzy,
Guttering flusty and drooling.
My heart is a hundred drums
The morning a symphony of pain and separation.
The seed of the evening lies still,
Unsown,
In the purse of your consent.