'Books that need Burning'

Swirl, pinch, rocked in the dark.

Taken to brinks, edging and quilted floors.

Coaxing foreplay, floor-play, to play out

The dedication of the adventurous mind.

Hypersnap, the keys snatch regions

Enrollment on board,

Swigs of saliva,

Sent into that twin

To mirror the need of the night.

The new orders are in

The screenwriter pre-midnight

Wrings free of tightened ropes.

Delicate musings prime themselves

Aggregate longing bombards the shelves

Tearing down books that need burning

Did Socrates spend time fucking at all?

The Allegory of his Cave was misrepresented…

Ha. The muse tears away,

Laughter resumes, guttural.

Punctual, in time to interrupt

Some significant point that needs making.

This volume is thick, thick with feeling

Blowing out sideways as the words thicken

Grinding to make bones of bread.

Racing pulse, bang the gong of these times.

Licentious in their lusting.

Foolish, to think it possible

To outwit the waist of energetic longing.

These nights are lucid, grown longer.

Grown teeth to tear into arousal.

Watery eyes own these visions

They seek to find a counterpart

To weaken the counter-top

Bent on the destruction of unspent torque

Hiding behind knees, neck, and notions.

A nod to the delirium of Tuesday

To nick and needle the nose tipped down

Suggestive 5pm phone calls

Eliciting low vibrations that head immediately South;

Attacking me between the legs.

This night is long,

This night is stout-

This night has just begun.