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Adventures in Theatreland
Adventures in Theatreland,
the eyes are blind,
fluorescent lights,
the glass is transparent; the atmosphere is supine.
Electric pink, he drinks whisky from a crystal-cut glass.
His heart is spent, the edges are defined. The shadows cut long, sharp lines.
He does not desire refinement; the basement is where he seeks to descend. His heart relents. The bare concrete steps he climbs, walking through dimly lit corridors, he ascends. Gabriel awaits him. His wing unfurled. The feathers are ruffled and ragged on the edges.
The fluid is lucent and viscous,
No words need to be spoken, nothing to be discussed; the air is infused with musk.
The air is heavy and dry, the faces perspire,
He scents the smell of burning tyres,
his loins are on fire,
He is captured in the grip of ecstasy
the atmosphere is electric, hot and humid,
dried mouth, the bourbon liqueur quenches not his thirst,
He longs to taste the earthiness of the soil.
His tongue to lap up his sweat.
He cannot forget the taste; acerbic sweet are the acidic bites.
Love is a curse; his mind converses, and not a word is rehearsed.
His head he wants to bury in the soil.
To eat dirt and taste the results of his toils.
In the desire for the flesh, there is nothing discrete.
Submarine…
