Ideal Erotica

 Disclosure that
is crassly
uninhibited
displays itself
like a plastic
enclosure,
a receptacle,
a waste bin.


For all those
subtle and
rarified moments
when justice
and commemoration
are abandoned
for honesty
and exhilaration,
the marker
that targets
the point of reciprocity,
this the ballast
and rigorous quest
that settles all questions,
this is the erotic ideal.

No word can pass inspection
that it does not obtain
the bluest sky.

No trillion cut lance
to press the moor
has much above
that supined
and slung touch
warbler
to babble
broken
shades
of rice and pansies.

The intramural
escapades of lust
astray cannot conceive
a walk along
a moon lit
bay as patterns
fill the night.

It is this,
an ideal,
that jests not
its place
when heart and sound
and wish
and want
have shatter
bash and crumple
crashed the citadels
of all that's common,
and this kiss,
has no equal
before a death
that lays us all to ruin
and in treason
jokes
to know
the value
of goodbyes.

runningturtle87