Having my way with Ulysses

A liquid womb of woman eyeball.

• Sirens

The world, when still in peril, thought that, wheeling, in the third epicycle, Cyprian the fair sent down her rays of frenzied love, so that, in ancient error, ancient peoples not only honored her with sacrifices and votive cries, but honored, too, Dione and Cupid, one as mother, one as son of Cyprian, and told how Cupid sat in Dido's lap; and gave the name of her with whom I have begun this canto, to the planet that is courted by the sun, at times behind her and at times in front. 4:47 pm

Accarezzévole

Well I can’t leave now, look at her.  Her eyes, my eyes.  She sees I’ve been watching, it’s in that blank face.  Must be a virgin.  Or fingered only.  She sees me, her hand, look, moving on the beer pull.  Thumb, index and midfinger softly feeling its shape.  Practiced unconscious, expert.  For me.  Me.  No wait.  Lidwell there, not for me.  Yet she knows, my eyes, her eyes.  His eyes.  Liquid eyeball, can see her beauty in her eye when no words.  Her hand moving her fingers making a hole.  Your hand was thin.  Your hand was stiff.  Three holes, women.  Those goddesses three.  Holes?  Didn’t see.  Interrup.  Young goddess.  Milly too, with a young student.  Like him, probably.

 

Women like money and rough treatment.  That’s why.  That must be why.  Take them into the bushes and there lay until the morning.  My dreams were white but life is so dark.