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THE
KISS
Her
arm around his neck, his meaty hand
upon
her thigh, which elsewise would fall open,
his
torso upright and one leg beneath her,
the
other steady like a rocky causeway,
her
body winding up to hang below him,
she
pulls his head towards her and her head
inserts
itself into his like a wedge.
Their
mouths are not mouths but a single tunnel
in
which each jaw is working on a tongue.
As
lion and lioness they gorge their kill.
Eyes
closed upon the world, there is no world
but
their arousal as they gnaw on inward
towards
the throat and lungs, and from inside
they
swallow eyeballs, brains and sinuses.
The
heart’s sucked as mere offal to their hunger
as
they slurp in the steams of viscera—
kidney
and liver, uterus and scrotum,
vagina,
penis, devoured all from inside.
Though
outwardly their bodies show no change
but
are still monumental, there’s no organ,
muscle
or sinew that has not exchanged:
for
everything that is a man is she
and
there is nothing female but in him.
Alan
Marshfield
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