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I Am Santo

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Pull down this tattered collar and reveal what lies beneath, where so many eyes pry. For your flesh, love, their own pleasure and perhaps yours, it’s a crane of the neck to afford a view at something you don’t mind showing if the time is right, the light proper, the mood a swirl of lust, yearning, and burning for something.

Reveal to the masses a little more of these supple curves, sacred lines drawn by an absent creator that once dabbled in both perfection and retraction – the tease that colors revelation so much more vibrantly and shatters light into bands of hunger. A taste of skin, lines along the throat like those of roads to the most beautiful home known, a collarbone and shoulder, the perfect architecture to attract lips, soft and full along their journey to satisfied sighs.

It’s a smile you wear so knowingly, seductively – a spider to a fly some would say, but they would be wrong as you’re no huntress; prey isn’t your game so much as is prayer. Reverence. A need to feel the exaltation of a thousand eyes as they fall upon your form and emotions slide into desperate need for more, forever more of you; your stories, your history, the lovers you have allowed into an assumed expansive narrative that now wanes like a crescent moon.

It’s over now, this race to experience and your heart appears settled at the base of this open collar that beckons the world but will allow no one in. Saltwater ravines trickle down the creased cheeks of a thousand followers as news of your rapture travels like lanterns in dark fables long recounted. Their stomachs sway at the belief that the goal is unattainable, as if it were ever less than an unreachable flower blooming at the apogee of the striving tree.

It wasn’t.

For that flesh was fantasy, a poem without words spelled out in the binary of interlaced screens and pixels held to their potential. It wasn’t a promise or an invitation, and the sadness of this cold day sinks around shuddering forms starving for a warm embrace impossible to receive.

This is a kind of death, but stunningly captivating in its own fashion as it pulls to reveal the under, hinting at this scene of worship and clenched desired. Constrict and hold fast at the grace of what’s provided. Listen to the song of a heart unheard. Believe there is more of an invitation at that openness. Release, tremble, and fall beneath the search of her eyes. It is the way to a better station that could never allow more than knowing kindness and a grin.

1 thought on “Pull”
  1. Jenn May 10, 2013on9:33 pm

    This is unspeakably beautiful. You are a master of language.

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