Val Mesmo: Go Then

(c) 2011

When I fuck you it is a Mardi Gras in my head; sweet,
Sweet with my mask securely on, and you
like a slide trombone, like a pandeiro, a reco-reco in your hips.
I put it down—down like a Samba enreda,
its succulent pulse the beginning of our everything.

With my mask secure—and there it is: one rabid fuck mask or another
trepidation obscured behind yellow feathers, a tenuous chiaroscuro
frescoed on my skin barely covering my tempestuous contextualization
this concreting whatever the hell it is we are up to,
and my mouth which would say I am about more than just fucking
stuffed up against the pillow, my hair caught in my teeth like reins.
Jesus, pinch me again. Your fuck rips me up; yet it isn’t all that I want.

The sun has gone down, or maybe it’s about to rise,
I’ve forgotten where in the world I live. Seattle—Brazil?
Quero Vocé doce amor. This stank funk,
like a newly discovered epidendrum, it pervades the room
and you are telling me again you need to go? You need to go!

You go with my juice slathered on your skin; a taste or two of me
hugs your tongue, my sloughed skin clinging to your nails
like evidence from a crime scene. My god! What will your wife say?

When we fuck it is Carnival and in my head I’ve concealed
my fears under an abundance of feathers and fabric and sequins
and wherever you touch me I squirm; gimme, gimme, gimme.
I am desperate hungry. Your leaving rips me up; this isn’t what I want at all.
I want to be seen with you. I want to be seen by you, unmasked.
This smell of you is on my hands, the throbbing where my jeans ride up;
It’s clear you know where I live. You need to stay.