If only we could find the right way to love” EXEM PLUM 3 – by drum, dance and song – a poem, one sentence at a time:
A sweetness taken and not taken towards the mouth, sooner or later seeking out the pleasure of her company, touch, the young waitress with East European looks had wiped the round table
like sticky tar, the desire for death surpassing all transient pleasures, clearing the dirty coffee mugs and plates, while the flexed wrist of her other hand rested easily against her hip
(“If you tell anything illegal, I am bound to report you”, she had said. It was a way of keeping the lid on things, the threat of kinetic action, because if the doors became leaky everybody could be in trouble and he might end in jail)
and it was the leaking across two surfaces, one clean the other soiled, the pure and the impure, the uncivilised and its opposite, her smile, which he transgressed, sliding, skidding, skewing, to give pleasure simultaneously, sometimes to as many as six together, and to rest soot-blue black motionless on the gleaming rock hidden deep in the cave within the cliff, as if lying on an ocean of sleep but the eyes ever-open.
It was Krishna.
mmj