Aryan after you
she came at me like Mariah – the wind blowing thru her hair, as if
it wasn’t a thing of its own creation. a nefarious mix of rain & fire in
her eyes; she could burn a man or wash him down the river.
it was a tragic passion that could only be beautiful. smoke came from
the other side of the mountain. the smell of a great disaster was in the
air. I would have left her alone, had a beer, bogarted a joint, but she
she took me somewhere I’ve never been. gladly beyond. the wind cascades
like an old world symphony thru the tall Savannah grass. the rain comes
down so brazenly it could rend a man’s tattoos. or a woman’s bruises.
I figured I learned everything about making out when I was like, fourteen.
the grabbing, mouth on mouth, tongues wrestling like serpents, the
rapture. & the terrible ride to an avenging star.
she brought me an idyll of gold; an ardor so rare it had no manifestation
in the paragraphs of a thesaurus. & it was simply called this: a kiss.
after that, what was left except a station wagon safari. a hunt for the most
austere. but we couldn’t get high enough. we couldn’t get dark enough.
there were men who could take her there. & the women who spent nights
with me, sad nights, lonely nights… they always go. crying, maybe. but
so I drift back to the barbaric ways;
where the whores are good enough for a stormtrooper like me.
descended from Germanic tribes –
it’s why they call me Feddeler…