....and falling toward the unknown, down, down.
by Herbert Nehrlich
Scaring last remnants of dignity out of me,
is this the end of the beginning, as
the Cantadora has whispered into my hair,
while kissing my face with wild abandon.
With kisses that reek of unused cobwebs and
long ago abandoned petunia patches.
'What beginning', I whisper back,
barely able to breathe, as her gnarled fingers
are choking me in midflight, with nails of vicious prominence.
If we are passing anything, it isn't going the same direction,
and a nagging ache of worry oozes out of my
innermost and secret places. 'Speak to me',
as she is still hanging on and I am no longer bothered.
'Facing this together', whisks by like a tuft of cloud,
and, with no warning, a wirr-warr of circles,
fluorescent, on fire, springs into our path, below,
we are descending into a welcome of vicious colours,
and the unmistakable dissonance of Death himself.
'Give in', 'let go', as her ample bosom,
now free of the torn garment, presses against my face.
'Yes', she breathes, unleashing a tongue
that darts into my ear, causing thunderous mayhem,
and as the circles gyrate ever more crazily,
she presses her loins against me, hot breath
into my face, burning loins, 'yes, you can',
as I shake my head, eyes wide open.
'Just as easy as underwater', 'You must, push,
the Black Hole is ours ', and we keep flying,
as her warm tunnel accepts me, claims me,
endless it is and deeper we must and we drop,
lower and lower at supersonic speed,
and now, near the end, surely,
blood runs down my face,
where she is ripping open my smiling cheeks
with needy nails, salt mixes with
old saliva and tears of abandon,
grinding, falling, rotating
in time with the approaching rings of fire,
as she squeezes to take my breath,
to replace it with hers, air rushes by,
as we penetrate new regions of barren fields,
and each other, as saliva and blood and skin
dries and is stung and abandoned.
And, at last, we can see the end of the journey,
darker, plunging, falling, head first,
falling, entangled, entwined, as reluctant one,
into the Black Hole, where all light vanishes,
all sound ceases, all movement ends.
It is the end of the tunnel with no light,
where our insides melt into liquids of fearlessness,
where our pleasure implodes into itself,
and where we have missed beam-up time.