Article: 261428 of talk.bizarre
From: (Morrisa Sherman)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: Magnetic Morsels
Date: 1 Dec 1995 12:25:02 -0800
Organization: Best Internet Communications
Lines: 87
Message-ID: <49noau$>
Status: O

A sadly repulsive language;
It is as sordid
As a rain of meat
In the bare floodlights.
A tiny urge,
Her sweet fiddle,
His elaborate apparatus,
Their frantic symphony,
Our only will,
All are gone.

                  Ah yes.  Love.
                  They cooked together.
                  The peach is neve so luscious
                  As a boiled egg
                  Shared in the shining mist
                  Of spring love.

                                             Oh, oh, oh, love!
                                             Sing to me easy,
                                             Pound me sweet,
                                             You my worship, my only.
                                             A boy drunk on my honey.
                                             You cry out "Goddess!"
                                             I say "No, my bare legs
                                             are too white"
                                             And we laugh,
                                             Delerious friends,
                                             Moan in a love vision together,
                                             Eat the smooth sea,
                                             All over and always and still.

                  Yes, I love you.
                  Please, Mother.
                  Your black stare
                  Drives me frantic.
                  Death is here,
                  Beneath the moment.
                  A spray of blood behind the bed,
                  A tremor of fear under my skin.
                  How ugly is our crushed egg.
                  I used to sweat and scream and shake.
                  What's the use.
                  I am a lifeless shadow, 
                  A hard rock.

Love was never here.
Picture beauty,
Yet none can live,
Beneath the trudge of iron void,
Not is so weak and repulsive a ship,
Just sitting here,
Chained in the rain,
Like some rust-shot sausage.

                  She is in love, and it is locked.
                  She must still be moon drunk
                  With the spring bare smell 
                  Of the boy's legs
                  And the sweet gift of his cry.
                  Do you knock?
                  Do you call?
                  Do you shake the door?
                  Walk away.
                  You will not say what you want today.
                                         Where is love?
                                         Heading into the smooth, milky day,
                                         An urge to swim in a lake hit me,
                                         And as purple sweet juice
                                         Sprayed from the knife,
                                         I wanted to stop,
                                         And smear it on my skin,
                                         My tongue licking pink fingers.
                                         Do you never think
                                         Of driving away together,
                                         Or of dressing all in red sometimes?
                                         Can you not see
                                         The orchard inside the apple?
                                         You ask me about love.
                                         Love is always here.