Would you like to throw a stone at me ?
Here, take all that’s left of my peach.
– D.H Lawrence.

It gripped me by the nape
in the night’s red shade,
faceless, like another reality
waiting behind all things.
It came to me, it filled me,
warm as molten wax.
Before it had me,
I saw it in a distant mirror
its silver skin gleaming,
its extravagant reflection
pervading the room.

And I knew something lived there,
closer to the bone, closer to death,
fundamental as a secret.
I knew one day this familiar beast
would bang
my untouchable heart
as against a wall,
till blood dripped from it.
And of course,
I was nobody’s fool,
I was not a lily,
more the center of a depravity.

Not at the first blow,
but the last, I felt drawn
deeper within darkness,
deeper within pleasure,
down to the blackest joy.
Here at my feet,
the seeds of my womanness
split opened in a sigh.

I fed myself to the strangers,
they became my makers.
Beggars, each night,
exhausted themselves in my bed
until the light turned to flesh.
My heart was a swarm of bees.
Pain and pleasure
flowed as milk and myrrh
between my breasts.
Scarlet stars
spurt out in the morning sky
like severed arteries.
The planets knew me,
the wind and the rain knew me,
everything that had a body
and a touch sighed with me.

At noon, I walked unashamed
in the burning streets,
voices hissed
I went out everyday like this
with a clear smile,
after a bath of sperm.
My only motion
in the bluest air
messed up their clothes,
dirtied their shoes.
I could see through
the cold metal of their souls.

My lovers called me
Purple Haze or Blacl Gold.
One I remember most
ended up on a cross.
His kisses were whips.
He understood more
than the rest of them.
The day he left,
I smashed a bottle of perfume
at his feet, and wiped them with my hair.
He said to the crowd
“Leave her.
She does it for the day of my burial.”

He didn’t care if I knew vice,
He didn’t care if I knew greed,
the scent of sex pleased him.
He came from a place
where the only thing
that torments us,
the only thing
to remember
is touch.