Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zeyar Lynn

Wax...

Between your iron bars & mine,
your tongue entwined with mine, unappeasable.
It’s not life, but we sip from it anyway –
in Babylon, at the Euphrates, in the Indus Valley,
in the Mahabharata, the Pillow Books & the Tale of Genji.
To reach into your deepest
I go into my depths.
Among molecules, proteins & amino acids,
we searched for a path in the Cosmos
of Being.
When our tongues slipped
they thrashed against the iron bars.
Between your detention & mine,
when we have done our time
you will dusk back into yourself
while I’d go back to the deepest layers of my own darkness.
I have been to places where
I didn’t even recognize myself.
Hospitals, cemeteries, or the warmth
of your throat.
I have sniffed at myself like a dog,
curious before, during &
after a kiss.
I try to recapture that sniff.
A kiss is liberated in the act of kissing.
Catch it again! I am caught
unsatiated in the act.
Inwardness & outwardness
articulating in harmony
only aware of wet consonants
kissed by dribbling vowels.
To be unconscious of the meaning of a kiss
in my consciousness.
The bloodless ghoul in a horror flick
licks blood, for
he is a ghoul.
They would say they, too, have felt thus;
they would say, they would surely say.
They would say they, too, have written thus;
they would say, they would surely say,
they would be better off smooching.  
Whenever I pluck myself from you, &
you peel yourself off of me,
we tilt towards a state of crookedness.
No tadpole turns into a fish, but
it’s in the nature of wax to melt.
Into the dent your tongue lashed
against the iron bar
I poke my tongue to recover what’s left.
Why did we collapse on our own volition 
into that kiss? 
Why kissed black & blue?
What was it
we hoped to kiss in that kiss of happenstance?

Was...

Tussen jouw ijzeren tralies & de mijne
jouw tong verstrengeld met de mijne, onverzadigbaar.
Leven is het niet, maar we nippen er toch aan –
in Babylon, aan de Eufraat, in de Indusvallei,
in de Mahabharata, in het Kussenboek en Het verhaal van Genji.
Om jouw diepste te bereiken
ga ik mijn eigen diepten in.
Onder moleculen, eiwitten & aminozuren
zochten we naar een pad in de Kosmos
van het Zijn.
Toen onze tongen uitgleden
sloegen ze tegen de ijzeren tralies.
Tussen jouw gevangenschap & de mijne,
als we onze straf hebben uitgezeten
zul je weer in jezelf gaan schemeren
terwijl ik me terugtrek in de diepste lagen van mijn eigen duister.
Ik ben op plaatsen geweest waar
ik mezelf niet eens meer herkende.
Ziekenhuizen, kerkhoven of de warmte
van jouw keel.
Ik heb aan mezelf gesnuffeld als een hond,
nieuwsgierig vóór, tijdens &
ná een kus.
Ik probeer dat snuffelen weer op te roepen.
Een kus wordt bevrijd in de kushandeling.
Grijp dat opnieuw! Ik word op heterdaad
onbevredigd betrapt.
Innerlijkheid & uiterlijkheid,
zich uitend in harmonie
zich slechts bewust van natte medeklinkers
door kwijlende klinkers gekust.
Me niet bewust zijn van de zin van een kus
in mijn bewustzijn.
De bloedeloze zombie in een horrorfilm
likt bloed, want
het is een zombie.
Ze zouden zeggen dat ook zij zich zo hebben gevoeld;
dat zouden ze zeggen, zouden ze vast zeggen.
Ze zouden zeggen dat ook zij dit hebben geschreven;
ze zouden zeggen, ze zouden vast zeggen
dat ze beter hadden kunnen knuffelen.
Steeds als ik mezelf van je af pluk &
jij jezelf van mij af pelt,
neigen we naar een staat van scheefheid.
Een dikkop wordt nooit een vis, maar
was smelt van nature.
In de deuk die jouw tong zwiepte
in de ijzeren tralie
steek ik mijn tong om te veroveren wat er over is.
Waarom bezweken we aan onze eigen wil
in die kus?
Waarom bont & blauw gekust?
Wat hoopten we
te kussen in die toevalstrefferkus?

Close

Wax...

Between your iron bars & mine,
your tongue entwined with mine, unappeasable.
It’s not life, but we sip from it anyway –
in Babylon, at the Euphrates, in the Indus Valley,
in the Mahabharata, the Pillow Books & the Tale of Genji.
To reach into your deepest
I go into my depths.
Among molecules, proteins & amino acids,
we searched for a path in the Cosmos
of Being.
When our tongues slipped
they thrashed against the iron bars.
Between your detention & mine,
when we have done our time
you will dusk back into yourself
while I’d go back to the deepest layers of my own darkness.
I have been to places where
I didn’t even recognize myself.
Hospitals, cemeteries, or the warmth
of your throat.
I have sniffed at myself like a dog,
curious before, during &
after a kiss.
I try to recapture that sniff.
A kiss is liberated in the act of kissing.
Catch it again! I am caught
unsatiated in the act.
Inwardness & outwardness
articulating in harmony
only aware of wet consonants
kissed by dribbling vowels.
To be unconscious of the meaning of a kiss
in my consciousness.
The bloodless ghoul in a horror flick
licks blood, for
he is a ghoul.
They would say they, too, have felt thus;
they would say, they would surely say.
They would say they, too, have written thus;
they would say, they would surely say,
they would be better off smooching.  
Whenever I pluck myself from you, &
you peel yourself off of me,
we tilt towards a state of crookedness.
No tadpole turns into a fish, but
it’s in the nature of wax to melt.
Into the dent your tongue lashed
against the iron bar
I poke my tongue to recover what’s left.
Why did we collapse on our own volition 
into that kiss? 
Why kissed black & blue?
What was it
we hoped to kiss in that kiss of happenstance?

Wax...

Between your iron bars & mine,
your tongue entwined with mine, unappeasable.
It’s not life, but we sip from it anyway –
in Babylon, at the Euphrates, in the Indus Valley,
in the Mahabharata, the Pillow Books & the Tale of Genji.
To reach into your deepest
I go into my depths.
Among molecules, proteins & amino acids,
we searched for a path in the Cosmos
of Being.
When our tongues slipped
they thrashed against the iron bars.
Between your detention & mine,
when we have done our time
you will dusk back into yourself
while I’d go back to the deepest layers of my own darkness.
I have been to places where
I didn’t even recognize myself.
Hospitals, cemeteries, or the warmth
of your throat.
I have sniffed at myself like a dog,
curious before, during &
after a kiss.
I try to recapture that sniff.
A kiss is liberated in the act of kissing.
Catch it again! I am caught
unsatiated in the act.
Inwardness & outwardness
articulating in harmony
only aware of wet consonants
kissed by dribbling vowels.
To be unconscious of the meaning of a kiss
in my consciousness.
The bloodless ghoul in a horror flick
licks blood, for
he is a ghoul.
They would say they, too, have felt thus;
they would say, they would surely say.
They would say they, too, have written thus;
they would say, they would surely say,
they would be better off smooching.  
Whenever I pluck myself from you, &
you peel yourself off of me,
we tilt towards a state of crookedness.
No tadpole turns into a fish, but
it’s in the nature of wax to melt.
Into the dent your tongue lashed
against the iron bar
I poke my tongue to recover what’s left.
Why did we collapse on our own volition 
into that kiss? 
Why kissed black & blue?
What was it
we hoped to kiss in that kiss of happenstance?
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