Soul Kiss Trance

I will kiss you as if
there was not enough fire in
hell so god made love.
I will kiss you to obliterate
all crosses and communion
with spirits other than
those between my teeth.
I will, in the kiss,
reconstruct all unholy cities�
crushed by the prayers of
the mongols in the form of crusades.�
In these cities I will set up�
figurines the shape and size
of You, set them up
on avenues and plazas
and the unhappy children
born into other religions
will cry that their
god is pale, shrimpish, iconic, not You�
and they will run drugged and naked�
into the temples
cursing the treachery
of a life without You.

I take the You into
my vein, neck, arm, leg,�
cock, eye socket —
oh I love the You —
and retch and convulse
with the surfeit,
rolling on my Persian carpet,
knocking over palm plants
and hot cups of broth
prepared by friends
who do not understand
the choir practice I have begun
moaning your name,
screaming one curse
your photo over my mouth
like a Macintosh
bitten, red, prototypical.
Again, I curse god,
the devil who organized the fever —
merriness this temperature
sets nuns afloat with torches
out of the lit cathedrals
and into the villages.
Together: trees, bumble-bees,
skylarks and dogs —
we give up the world
and kiss, kiss the way killers kiss —
the way arsonists light lights:
the first match as if hypnotised,
lips parted by infra-red cupid,
mouth of dry kindling, then
one two three, love unto
ashes.

copyright 1987 by Harry Kondoleon