Whore House
(Delirium Street, Central)

Close your eyes. No-one will see us. You need not wait for darkness. Your warm body will slip past mine into the room. You will be already there, always there. I want us to be near invisible, barely visible, like loose winged bats, mere sonic presences, feeding darkly. Nobody will see us. Your body will slip past mine into the room. The sky will be purple, stars will rise in my hemisphere, the sun will burn in yours. The room will envelope us. The room will be sightless, perfumed, warm, the air surrounding us like damp breath. Our clothes will loosen, falling away. Skin will shimmer with faint moisture. Nobody will see. Our bodies will open like day-lilies. Our bodies will open one to the other, blindly, out of sight. The lightness and the darkness will feed, suckling, annihilating the shadow. The room will understand us. Your words will dissolve on my tongue, seamless, invisible. Your body will be offered, its inner membranes softened, engorged, excited, liquefying in my mouth. Tell me your body is wanting and you are already there, merged, emergent, invisible. Tell me you are in the room, waiting, eyes closed.

Morning Glory