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ghostsista:

The tiles were so cold — You wanted torment,
like how god-dogs do it. Your muscles clenched

under your jeans. You’ve walked around, hellbent
that none of your friends would notice the drenched

little patch, the buzz of your discipline
implemented deep between your cheeks. You

peel down your jeans like you peel skin
down bone, down muscle. At each corkscrew

twist lick squeeze the silicon hammer’s head
spreads you wider. We two lay on the floor

of your mom’s bathroom — The acid hitting
just then. “Yeah, leck it. Me clit is blood-red.

Me arse — O! ahm a god! ahm a doog! Mooar!”
Torment, you had called it. Your toes, curling.

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gosto [taste]

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ghostsista:

TASTE

Full of the mystery of taste.
Reckless with my mouth.

Throbbing fruit
fresh. My mouth

on your skin. A light kiss
with the touch

of the tongue.
Suck your

fruit; with a grip,
howling, and hair

pulling. Strange
fruit.

][][

GOSTO

Plena do gosto da mistério.
Afoita com minha boca.

Latejando de fruta
fresca. Minha boca

na teu pele. Um leve beijo
com o toque

da língua.
Chupo teu

fruto; com um aperto,
um urro, e puxão

de cabelo. Fruto
estranho.

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These poems are in the tradition “negative ecstasy,” a philosophy that the poet is nothing more than a void: in order to create, the poet requires a willing release of the ego and self, which in turn allows the poet’s void to be filled with the verse.  It is similar to what the Buddhists call  “no mind,” a method used so that works, ideas and even lives that once appeared as  imperfect or failures were, by their very nature, simply unfinished acts.   The process was comparable to what Keats described as “being in uncertainties … without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” It was this viewpoint, inquiring into  the metaphysics of “failure,” that brought forth the ability to contemplate the two key themes of these poems: “La morte et Eros” – desire and death and their contrasting forces.

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I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the iron’s point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it.

Saint Teresa