Saturday, March 12, 2011
Is alive in the forked body, an anchor between the legs, irresistible magnetism.
Is sweet in a hungry mouth, wet in an angry kiss, tender against the lips.
Is like gravity.
Is all the flowers in Scotland blooming at once, from the pretty feathered catkin to the dense, wicked thistle.
Is bulldozing through conversation, laughter, misunderstandings, tearing through words like so much wet newspaper.
Is felling us. Pinned and skewered, we scream merry hell. The huntsmen, deer, hounds and dogs all tumbling, howling, fighting and biting - taut, intent, obsessed, devouring scent, inhaling bodies, dismembering each other bone by bone.
Is enough to fill and refill my glass, to sip and swallow and taste the long finish.
Is enough to shake me. Leave me undone, naked in soft, fresh air. Make me sob without tears.
Is a glorious, blessed, joyful fuck, hallelujah, the first of Spring.