Meta Sutra

Meta Sutra

“What else would I want?”

—Larry asking Alice to strip in front of her at Closer

I.

Listen to what I say,

to the words slivering

thin mists before my lips,

to the marriage

of my syntax and lexis

still,

you cannot hear me.

Inhale my breath,

the gasps of my neck,

my shoulders,

my nape,

still,

you cannot smell me.

Take off my shirt,

my pants,

my bra,

my panty,

still,

you cannot see me.

Caress my cheeks,

my breasts,

my legs,

my back,

still,

you cannot touch me.

Lick my tongue,

my ears,

my belly,

my nipples,

my cunt,

still,

you cannot taste me.

II.

Unless you understand the lyrics

of my silence, the melody of the gestures

I deplete and their harmony

to the heavy sighs I secrete,

you can never hear me.

Unless you breathe the scent

of the transcendent, the shadow

fumes of my present behind

my body’s crescents, my thrust’s

glowing embers of tomorrow

escaping from yesterday’s

burning sorrows,

you can never smell me.

Unless you look beyond

my body’s nooks, see the scars

behind my smiles, the gaze

of forever in my stare,

you can never see me.

Unless you stroke the mysteries

swathed in human pelt, the sweat

of memory trickling secret

frets and regrets,

you can never touch me.

Unless you lick the subliminal

beneath the carnal, the ethereal

living in the self’s animal, and melt

them all in your tongue.

you can never taste me.

III.

I am the music

that slakes

the ear’s passion

but goads it to hear more.

I am the aroma

that sates

the nose’s hunger

but prods it to smell more.

I am the vision

that quenches

the eye’s thirst

but rouses it to see more.

I am the form

that douses

the hand’s longing

but yearns it to touch more.

I am the food

that satisfies

the tongue’s yen

but craves it to taste more.

I am your unknown lust for eternity.