why can't nipples type?

they sing and moan, cause accidents despite alertness...

but they make other parts of the body put feelings into language...

although we could debate the changing mutations of language, i would rather lick red and white lollipops, as big as the moon on steroids. lick until my tongue begs for mercy and every sweet tooth has given up, dying from saturation. i would use the big, left-over stick as a flag pole, finally making my quilt with jimi's immortal words "make love, make love, make love, make love."

how long have i been collecting fabric for that project? textiles hand-picked in Kauai and Mexico, flea markets, thrift stores and brought to my santa cruz treasure box in old suitcases from India and all the portals of creativity.

finally, i will sew, will christen and stain the quilt with love, oh so much love and passion that the song will beat like gong's in our eardrums and we will laugh and scream and i will bite your ear off, almost completely. it will hang by a string of skin, but don' t worry, i will use gold thread to repair your beautiful lobe.

after my collaboration is blessed and given proper rituals of spit and blood and flower garlands, we will raise it; dark air will give it breath and it becomes a creature blowing red and purple smoke. those words will flap in the night, adding a funny touch to the noises of darkness. the letters will stay, brilliant and shiny, but something in them, the energy? no, the meaning...the hope will move, it will take flight and bounce.

it will be carried to every corner that exists. by cabinets and grey cubicles it will fly and leave silver dust. it will kiss the mouth of a man looking for bottles and will send ripples across a tea cup in england filled proper. in many years, it will find me again and enter my mouth as i am kissing in the park beneath the shade of green and orange, when our tongues meet, and i exhale, it moves into you.