|Ode to the Beloved's Hips
|Bells are theyshaped on the eighth daysilvered
percussion in the morningare the morning.
Swing switch sway. Hold the day away a little
longer, a little slower, a little easy. Call to me
I wanna rock, I-I wanna rock, I-I wanna rock
right nowso to them I comestruck-dumb
chime-blind, tolling with a throat full of Hosanna.
How many hours bowed against this Infinity of Blessed
Trinity? Communion of Pelvis, Sacrum, Femur.
My mouthterrible angel, ever-lasting novena,
O, the places I have laid them, knelt and scooped
the amberfast honeyfrom their openness
Ah Muzen Cab's hidden Temple of Tulúmlicked
smooth the sticky of her hipheat-thrummed ossa
coxae. Lambent slave to ilium and ischiumI never tire
to shake this wild hive, split with thumb the sweet-
dripped combhot hexagonal holedark diamond
to its nectar-dervished queen. Meanad tongue
come-drunk hum-tranced honey-pullerfor her hips,
I amstrummed-song and succubus.
They are the sign: hip. And the cosign: a great book
the body's Bible opened up to its Good News Gospel.
Alleluias, Ave Marías, madre mías, ay yay yays,
Ay Dios míos, and hip-hip-hooray.
Cult of Coccyx. Culto de cadera.
Oracle of Orgasm. Rorschach's riddle:
What do I see? Hips:
Innominate bone. Wish bone. Orpheus bone.
Transubstantiation bonehips of bread,
wine-whet thighs. Say the word and healed I shall be:
Bone butterfly. Bone wings. Bone Ferris wheel.
Bone basin bone throne bone lamp.
Apparition in the bone grotto6th mystery
slick rosary beadDéme la gracia of a decade
in this garden of carmine flower. Exile me
to the enormous orchard of Alcinousspiced fruit,
laden-treeImparadise me. Because, God,
I am guilty. I am sin-frenzied and full of teeth
for pear upon apple upon fig.
More than all that are your hips.
They are a city. They are Kingdom
Troy, the hollowed horse, an army of desire
thirty soldiers in the belly, two in the mouth.
Beloved, your hips are the war.
At night your legs, love, are boulevards
leading me beggared and hungry to your candy
house, your baroque mansion. Even when I am late
and the tables have been cleared,
in the kitchen of your hips, let me eat cake.
O, constellation of pelvic glideevery curve,
a luster, a star. More infinite still, your hips are
kosmic, are universegalactic carousel of burning
comets and Big Big Bangs. Millennium Falcon,
let me be your Solo. O, hot planet, let me
circumambulate. O, spiral galaxy, I am coming
for your dark matter.
Along las calles de tus muslos I wander
follow the parade of pulse like a drum line
descend into your Plaza del Toros
hands throbbing Miura bulls, dark Isleros.
Your arched hipsay, mi torera.
Down the long corridor, your wet walls
lead me like a traje de lucesall glitter, glowed.
I am the animal born to rush your rich red
muletaseach breath, each sigh, each groan,
a hooked horn of want. My mouth at your inner
thighhere I must enter youmi pobre
Manoletepress and part you like a wound
make the crowd pounding in the grandstand
of your iliac crest rise up in you and cheer.
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