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January 15, 2005
Reading Kinnel
Reading Kinnel all morning,
The smell of hickory, and leather
Has engulfed my brain, the sour scent
of the blood, the bear, and his heavy
Breathing, that breaks the wood's hush
He smells of sweat, pungent, mixed
With honey suckle, and syrup, his hands,
dense, rough, around my wrist, as he
Sits me down, across, while I sniff the air,
Looking through his brush wild hair,
Half standing, on his head, four grays,
For every black, few whites, his voice,
Tempos in delibrate pitches, that reaches,
His words, crass in their power, all jagged,
Thorned, braded in tins, and metals, all
Soiled, bloodied warm, from a kill, or hunger,
I am smitten, and raw, feeling each blow
I crawl on all fours,
Finding him, behind his desk,
I nuzzle, his legs, sniff the skin,
And the soft hair, then reach, as the
Words, his voice, the smell of hickory,
And the feel of his woolen pants,
Initiate a tresplass, and a howl
He puts his palm on my head,
Stroking my hair, bringing me to
Submission. As I lay my head on his
Lap, his words, bounce weightless,
In my head, dripping, in hickory sweat, and musk.
Posted by Idinraha at January 15, 2005 11:18 AM