The Membrane that Keeps us Shut in Our Own Skins...

¡Hola! Everybody...
I am working today... yup! I’m at the plantation... I hope the rest of you are enjoying the little leisure time our corporatist environment allows us.

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-=[ Lucia ]=-

by Ravi Shankar (1975 -)

My hair, voluminous from sleeping in
six different positions, redolent with your scent,
helps me recall that last night was indeed real,

that it's possible for a bedspread to spawn
a watershed in the membrane that keeps us
shut in our own skins, mute with pleasure,

that I didn't just dream you into being.
You fit like a fig in the thick of my tongue,
give my hands their one true purpose,

find in my shoulder a groove for your head.
In a clinch, you're clenched and I'm pinched,
we're spooned, forked, wrenched, lynched

in a chestnut by a mob of our own making,
only to be resurrected to stage several revivals
that arise from slightest touch to thwart

deep sleep with necessities I never knew
I knew until meeting you a few days
or many distant, voluptuous lifetimes ago.

(2005)

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Love,

Eddie