William M. Peaster

Posted on May 25, 2022Read on Mirror.xyz

On Sensuality

Like the river to oblivion, Lethe, aimless and unmindful to the words I have misplaced upon my return, careless like an unmanned hammock by the sea; perhaps this is not a return but where I’ve crept all along like a body that sneezed out a soul that dreamt of fleeing loudly; maybe this is where I kiss next the one with violent hair, gorgeous babbler of things nonsensically appropriate, so so so she’ll say just know why I call you Sisyphus because you rise and fall like the sun deserving all six of my kisses, and yes, in those moments there is tension, like great muscles flexing out of apprehension of something immediate, some Charybdis or Scylla churning out an inviting gesture of the eye a look that could only mean come and we will meet as lovers upon the plains of oblivion; and I hear her in my mind, the imaginary preaching: I will count the strands of your hair which are the days of your calendar, beautiful boy.