Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
JESSICA WORDEN
breathless, no. 2
London, UK
2015
to my lovers
to my friends
It is oblong, like an
almond or an eyelid. I
regard myself in this eye:
my ref lection upside
down in the concave sur
face. This slick gleaming
hull that must be licked.
Slipping in my mouth to
impart its light metallic
f lavour along my tongue
and moving across sur
faces, looking for their
texture moulding each
other.
so far
this wrinkled fabric plane
pressed skin
white cotton
my hand caresses its surface
these wrinkles
they ebb
and f lowing
escaping
and slipping
beneath my fingers
I cannot grasp
Transformed.
break through
crash glass
and locate
a needle on a compass wavering
suddenly
pushing into me
rounded sounds
coming
from the back of your throat
things you tell me they dont
matter
they
dissipate into air
and the air is thick
and impenetrable
it divides us
mouthing mine
two and never one
the interior of your mouth I
swallow within my own our
tongues catching on each
other turning ragged in the
friction of our mouths
and teeth
oh the
teeth
this pleasure
on the edges of my
mouth grating tongue
encountering my body
in the wet noise we
make together my teeth
bite into your lips my
blood translates in your
senses my body is itself
coursing within your
veins pumping through
tough muscles of our
heart I inhale you exhale
you inhale I exhale there
we stay in the moment of
two mouths together
as one
a breath extended
in f in itely unt i l the
contact breaks
we gasp
separated
alone
and lonesome gazing
upon the other my hand
reaches out to caress your
face the one so similar to
mine the familiar curve
your appearance
wavers
I approach
your
hesitance
perhaps
my desire is
overwhelming
stretching out hose
nude membrane
expanding out over our
head and our mouth and our
hands covering everything
and filling
and you go
we gaze at each other across
the divide this sur face
between us I watch you
touch yourself you rub as
I do vigorously like there
cannot be enough this we
share watching panting yes
together I moan you moan
and as we come closer yes
our sounds mingle I hear
coming
reaching towards each other
my fingers outstretched to the
skin of you wavering away I
get too close darting away like
f ish underneath the surface
of water interior of a pool
dripping out of me
onto you
sipping our mouths open
tongue out stretching to
something unknown these
eyes I know so well this skin
just like my own
peeling away
shed skin
piling on the sides
the f loor around me
fragile thin tearing
crumbling
in palms
between fingers
and grasp
and gasp
crash
the pull of you
these hands
my own
running fumbling trembling
Containment. Limiting
touch to a single straw pass
ing smoke between walls,
lip to lip. This passage
between mouths permeates
a barrier between bodies
through the tiniest of holes.
Nothing to stop this profu
sion seeping through.
Tong ue speech. Prat
tle. Murmur. Blur. Many
voices speaking through
one, layering and babbling
a love mumble. Issuing out
in one long exhalation you
could call it a hymn. A
gasping exhaltation. And
exaltation of breath.
In this iteration rhythm
overtakes semantics, breaks
structure, and becomes
incoherent. There is no
limit to the form or shape
these utterances take. Spill
ing out, they sing inchoate
excess and smother with
their profusion.
twitching
f lickering
softly
rapid muscles tensing
sleepy and exhausted
rolling back in pleasure
curve of fingers scooping
in grabbing f lexing tips
leaving an imprint a red
smear of broken skin
within
rubbing
f linching
elbow bends shoulder
raises tight every pulsing
curve twitching outline
stroking moving
relentless
up and down
in and out
sighing
again
again
again