From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to a rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, Hershey's chocolate to a garlic peppered, cedar-planked salmon, Joel Dias-Porter's thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
THE EMPRESS OF HIGH DESIRE
Call her an electric currency.
Imagine a banknote high as her cheekbones.
Yearn to say grace in Cantonese.
Not before an ordinary meal,
but before lips full as ripe fruit.
Say the tongue dreams of tasting her oranges, freshly peeled. Dreams they say pluck me in Mandarin, of softly circling a Navel.
The flesh pulses with Blood anticipating a touch.
What does she deal if not a high card narcotic ? Call her addiction (opiate):