Aphrodisiac Telephone

Aphrodisiac Telephone

Dali says:

There is a Mexican mystic
Who paints only the rear ends
Of hugely corpulent Indian women
bulging like tumescent tamales.

And I am that mystic pillowed in prehistory
Who riding behind inflames the hydrocarbons
Of your eyes and becomes Venus
To your flesh.

Gala stares blankly and says:

Narcissus.

Dali says:

The vegetative axis of the blastula
Arises from the egg prick of my
Spermatozoic brush where begins
The enantiomorphism of our mirror.

Lobster have big and little hands,
Left and right, and are golden green
With tetrahedra between veinous thighs,
Like yesterday’s rent.

Gala stares blankly and says:

Tiresias.

Dali says:

I sport vibrissae on my upper lip,
One for each of your legs, and wax fair
In the holy eucharist of your public hair,
Like an ass braying in the wilderness.

Barren in poesy,
You are Zeus gravid with Milky Way,
Unhatting the foreskin of the wine-dark sea,
Czaress of aubergine.

Gala breathes like firestone and says:

Prometheus.

[copyright EAC]