(the genii-ology of the heart/mind)

The voice on the left is a woman artist doing her laundry with her lover's; meanwhile on the right, the man -- a dancer -- addresses her. Sounding together these voices make an erotic love poem.

Jeffrey Loo

I fill this now dark opening with blue earthen umber and red of a downward sun and put change in and on it goes and your shirts trail, tights flail, towels tumble like waving flags and through my dress in the dryer glass everything pours, falls, rises open as the clothes cages that will be filled and my body is open, just so, in the waves the wave of my dress that moves are perfect breathless stases when on it goes round and round in life's laundry-go- round (for ever!) on it goes inside and outside of the inside-out colors and my outside in the glass and on it goes off again so I put change in and change your stuff with mine the slips and bras and sopping hankies and panties and on it goes off again (its nerve-on-a downswing) on it goes off again the I I am again this body in my dress as opening scarves are rivering deep in the dark through my solely lit thighs

In the scent of eucalyptus leaves, you suspire for the shivering glass of my lips, I gave it up-- threw ballet shoes in the fire and watched the flame flicker, kick and whirl a smoke body rising in airless black and my whole torso screamed for you, and who is drawing me breathes close seeing me grab the ground again that pulses as I push in- to arc, in- to sky harder than trees flinching in winds, unrelenting breath is my spillway of words, song from flecks of toenails or moon pumice (half- minding, half, hearty) that is light and its dark never dies, steadier than my eyes, who is drawing me always drinks her- self always and outpours mine, she's not art but artist drawing me and threadings of me through the leap-- closest to your gut-levels bye and bye I say sleep sound whether or nether worlds sleep and by your belly you hear me the first time, --full space of my blood blown through my own passage