@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; An Evocation At Entrances, An Erotic Love Poem

At the entrance to the interstice---the

parantheses between the mundane dimensions,

through which glimpsed contours of Coerulesence

(planet?  spherical city?) rising out of mist

that sunlight or starlight has caused to shimmer (and

that no prejudiced hater or self-righteous old prude

can glimpse or approach---are your socks.

At the entrance to our private dining suite---

served at the very exclusive diners' club,

accepting only of a certain kind of member,

mostly couples (grown men who have been

together, monogamously, for years, even decades;

adolescent boys, going "steady" or to their proms,

perhaps for the first time in their lives, or the

history of their schools; or to the shock (sometimes

willdly, profanely, vocal and vociferous;

sometimes with the imagining of corporal assault) of

parents, instructors, administrators and coaches---

are your socks as you slip them off inside the door,

before we are seated; and then, sitting at a

right angle to me, you slip them into my waiting lap.

At the entrance to the choreographed collusion of

our naked bodies---to the intent and purpose of

exquisite pleasure climaxed with the surging

release of sweetness after the contraction of

powerful muscles that launch those harvests on a

sevenfold sequence to a trajectory that brings a

delightful splashdown upon eagerly desirous and

receptive flesh---are your socks, which you did not

remove with your other clothes (at my standing. at

my very erect and pulsing, request) piled in

slovenly array on the antique chair next to the

kingsize bed of our love, and pillow talk, and slumber.

(Your socks are metallic blue, or fawn-gray, or beige;

semi-sheer. except for the opacity that ensheathes

your heels and toes---and there the fabric is softest, as

proven in slow caresses upon face, pectoral circlets of

sensual response, jewels, and highly sensate thyrsi;

to be hand-laundered, like other delicates, to remove the

streaks of a plentiful, and sometimes repeated, harvest.)

At the entrance of all things pertaining to our love---

set free from the enforced confinemet of any style of shoes;

avoided except for inclement weather and obdurate surfaces---are

your socks:  your fragrant, flavorful, exquisitely soft socks . . .


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