#loversharing

[maxierodeo]

and then my lover shares: "The Lesbian Body" by Monique Wittig, (translated from French by David Le Vay,) and I have words to describe how I feel:

I open m/y mouth, I admit your lips your tongue your palate, I prepare to die by your side adored monster while you cry incessantly about m/y ears.

and I am crying incessantly, sharing m/y (mine/yours) tears; m/y cum m/y ejaculate from m/y cervical glands; m/y eyes, m/y mucus m/y salt water m/y spit m/y vaginal flora, m/y predominate lactobacilli, m/y vaginal wall transudate; m/y as shared, as sharing, as enacted body. We discuss the third space, apart you say it's: "the not-you-not-me, the unknowable parts of us" and I think this unknowable is depicted in m/y, as third part as '/;' the center of m/y. Slash as connective tissue matching mine to yours; m/y. Slash not as severing or cut but as connection, as combiner, as m/y, as in m/y. Unknowable slash, unpronounceable except in separate name, in pronounced sharing, as m/y, as definitory unit, the triangle is made by definition in three sides, as in m/y, as in m-/-y. The slash is the unknowable third thing that excites us and connects us.

You speak of the colour of m/y organs. I cannot see them. I hear your voice hissing in m/y ears, I concentrate on listening to you.

& thank you wikipedia for notes on the makeup of discharge: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaginal_discharge

[maxierodeo]

bathroom stall

my lover he left his wife pleaser and I washed it wrapped in silk cloth

unwrapped in washer set cotton on my soft legs quiver under weight

and I slip it on under jacket my nipples tense I choke clear throat

imagine his eyes on my body warm travel up my spine my throat

transfiguration! my feet lift or he lifts my hips toward cloud as sink

[maxierodeo]

I dreamed this dream and I still dream of it...

My lover shares this with me the night after I watch Stalker. He has already seen Stalker. He recommends it to me the night before I watch it. Months ago and yesterday, we speak of Solaris, and drink coffee as friends in an attic off Sandy. We speak about lovers and friendships and writing and community. He has just returned from California, or he's about to leave. I can't remember or forget.

and m/y dreams will be y/our dreams.

Another day he says colons are directional in that they equate, they are lines across sand, two poles waiting to connect. I think about his fascination with triangles and lay alone in my bed worrying about flights and time and

reality and dreams and death—wave after wave.

In my mind triangles are connection, laid flat, they connect three points. If you connect ": ." you have a triangle. If you connect ". . ." you have a line. In this way, a triangle requires specificity, a line requires only two points, a third point in a straight line is visually indistinguishable from any other.

wave after wave breaks on the shore:

And this breaking is almost silenced in the colon, in the line. Colon is pause, is direction, is points to be connected. The difference between ":" and ". . ." is horizontal versus vertical, when connected: "|" and "_" say line and line. Each line contains infinite points of rest, and simultaneously none. Wave after wave breaks and each is indistinguishable from the rest. More can be said in ": ." or "◺" or even "△". In this way, with a referential third point, any line becomes a triangle, moving from first to second dimension.

In writing, "lines" are followed by other "lines" and can be linked with colons, or space. Space is created by definition of line, emptiness is unobservable without bound of line. Our eyes want to make shape, want to see space, and build negative from positive or vice versa.

△

What I'm saying is that time is not a single line, craft is not a single line, each are more demonstrable in a triangle, or a series of triangles, twisting around a central or unknown axis. From these twistings we draw lines, we write lines, we enact lines, and create circles and spirals and shape defines shape defines shape.

My lover dreams of triangles and shares a poem and defines a part of me in the shape of the lines chosen. Sharing is a line from mind to mind and when it is received, touched, felt, a third point can appear, and a shape becomes evident.

Life is a miracle of miracles, and I kneel/ I dreamed this dream and I still dream of it