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Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Apes--Grant Loveys

This morning I awoke to an ape
resting in a slant of light
on your side of the bed.
It smelled of your lotioned skin,
worked its joints into your usual
slumbering tableau.
Your rhythm in its cavernous breath
as it opened its damp eyes.
It looked me over, points of feral light
in irises the color of sackcloth,
and I couldn’t breathe when it climbed
on top of me
with none of your long litheness,
just a stone wall of muscle
and too many terrifyingly limber fingers
gripped around my wrists and feet.
it whispered in bastard tones,
the guttural speech of an ancient earth,
Hello, it’s me.
Lips like dexterous scrotal skin brushing my throat,
beckoning, not your lips, but still tender.
Giant hands guide me to its matted fur,
knots livid with secret pests.
Brushbristle fur the exact color of your tawny down
coming undone under pink and stubby fingers.
Its hobnailed feet in my hair,
a pleasing weight on the scalp.
Morning sunlight painted on a blackened face,
green teeth in pleasure bared, a gaze almost beatific, almost yours.
Our voices soon to hoot and chitter
the canticle of eras passing in evolution.

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