TOUCHING PERSEUS
For Ruth Gordon
Up north the stars shoot from the gut. Some claim it’s Perseus’s nether region that does it. I look at it, and look at it, and look at it some more. Some call this star gazing. The temperature goes down. I feel the zero on my toes. I make a wish. With my eyes closed. So it can’t be gazing that does it. Make it true. I know it. With my eyes closed I focus on my breath. My breath in art. Perseus may be well endowed, but it’s his navel I’m interested in. It smells like dark chocolate made with cardamom seeds. I have them on my tongue. The seeds. Their smell is the smell of our mixed blood. It comes out of my nostrils. I exhale - - - Your shirt goes up. I breathe into your navel. You’re waiting for my touch. Your whole body aches with memory and desire. I touch you, and you swoon. I touch you again. Your eyes open, and you swear on the stars that I am It. Not the stoning Medusa, but the other one. The secret one. The one with the trumpet, whose blow is a Gorgoneion apotropaic gaze that turns stone into a starring touch. You saw it. You felt it. You loved it. You want it. The foursome crystal constellation.
Up north the stars shoot from the gut. Some claim it’s Perseus’s nether region that does it. I look at it, and look at it, and look at it some more. Some call this star gazing. The temperature goes down. I feel the zero on my toes. I make a wish. With my eyes closed. So it can’t be gazing that does it. Make it true. I know it. With my eyes closed I focus on my breath. My breath in art. Perseus may be well endowed, but it’s his navel I’m interested in. It smells like dark chocolate made with cardamom seeds. I have them on my tongue. The seeds. Their smell is the smell of our mixed blood. It comes out of my nostrils. I exhale - - - Your shirt goes up. I breathe into your navel. You’re waiting for my touch. Your whole body aches with memory and desire. I touch you, and you swoon. I touch you again. Your eyes open, and you swear on the stars that I am It. Not the stoning Medusa, but the other one. The secret one. The one with the trumpet, whose blow is a Gorgoneion apotropaic gaze that turns stone into a starring touch. You saw it. You felt it. You loved it. You want it. The foursome crystal constellation.
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