M Amber Nall
Let me open wet for you. Wet the way of dark silted lakes. Let me deftly reach out one gentle hand to collapse into yours, finger by finger by finger. Let me suckle the rich nectar painted drippingly along your thighs. Let me sink your teeth, sharp as needles, wound-deep into the liminal juncture of my shoulder and neck. Let me burn you with stoked coals, let me rise you up the next day, unburnt. Let me take within my hands your fragile exoskeleton, and sink my mouth deeply up against the swollen battery acid parts of you until my tongue is thick with scarring. Let me give over every organ to your pleasure. All of them. Let me breathe you. Let me carry you in my blood like a sickness. Let me carry you in the back of my throat like a prayer. Let me slowly digest your ruinous body. Let me fuck hard into your raw electricity let me conduct it let it shake me apart, let it climb up and through. Let me kiss your bones and wires. Please, the next day, my jagged edges will be a beautiful weapon. A poem-seed. Please. Let me bury a toad and five human teeth in the loamy dirt under the ghost-cast moon, and when I pray to the old gods and the void, for ripeness, for growth, it will be six sylllables of your name in my mouth. It can stretch wide enough to take you. Let me leak my fluids from every orifice in holy testament, in proof of my meat body. Limbic. Nervous. Circulatory. Let me give away my laughter, specifically the way I laughed three Sundays ago in a raw hurt way that vulnerable noise drowned in the crowd like a kitten. Let me cut off your hand on my thigh when I forget that it is not all other hands that have ever been on my thigh, unwelcome visitors stealing upwards, stealing-- Let me kiss the open wound of your stump. My mouth can stretch wide enough. I can take you. Let me burrow catacombs into your white flesh let me live there, curled like an embryo, safe again. Let me sing when I come on your claws. Let me evaporate. Let me bleed monthly into my cupped hands. Let me write psalms in some old dead language that only your bisected tongue can shape. Let me worship.
M Amber Nall lives and freelances on Darkinjung land in NSW, Australia. They believe words are as necessary as water. You can tweet them @tseiiot.