Strictly speaking, this is some rather esoteric erotic poetry from the perspective of a woman named Irian Valcòn, who will come up in Captain’s Log eventually. But it’s informed by a lot of tender, hungry feelings toward actual people. I like when I have an opportunity to lay my hands on a person and look at them like art or architecture, observe them at length and with all my senses, run my hands over every part, appreciate every shape and sound and texture. When I’m kissing you and I close my eyes, I’m not imagining someone else or anything like that – I’m imagining your body turning into a fractal castle that throws out buttresses and breezeways each time you touch me, connecting me at every point with the evolving edifice of you.
Sharp little feelings like thorns in places
To walk my fingers up the thousand steps
starting at your shoulder, climbing your neck
build civilization between our faces –
a theocracy, taking their gospel
from the whispered words between our kisses.
In your stained-glass eyes they depict wishes,
cast us both as goddess and disciple.
Light runs from your mouth, spills over your lips,
a star burning in the cup of your tongue.
My skin ignites with every molten drip,
leaving behind the ribcage harp you strung.
You pick out my fate with your fingertips.
Between us, all the sins of worlds… undone.