Subliminal reveries of the fisherman’s spouse
In a slithering, slippery, erogenous drowse
Find her floating in a pool of septic pus
And in the embrace of something unctuous
Vacuum cusps kissing her unsheathed softness
She lies in the company of the prisoner of Lochness
Who’s invertebrate and has tentacular appendages
And unwraps her from her emotional bandages
The hind walls are pierced with organic orifices
And someone behind them intermittently pisses
Her lover’s gelatinous arms slide on her slimy skin
And awaken the monster that dwells within
She quivers as it then infiltrates in a spur
Releases spermatophores and impregnates her
And then she, for just a microsecond gestates
Entrapped fluids escape from all her bodily gates
The maiden’s iliac now swells with heavenly pleasure
It’s an ecstatic saturnalia by every measure
Her spirits swim in celebration of liberation from their velour
A kafkaesque explosion and she's the cephalopod's paramour
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- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
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