Paradise Fossils Are Free

*

knows a girl red fog rose

butter dishy spider sweet

when she smile long bunch wilt

when she dance peach leaf streak

when she ride narcissus fly

spider wishy butter treat

leaves a trail of tulip fire

*

*

I love flowers and flames and insect blight

that’s what she said on her last night

is that what dirt feels like

egg worm belly frog drop

spread her stubby little legs

pull tubers and stones from her belly

with the crown of the lily exposed

belly-white dirt in the dark

*

*

What I don’t understand is in reality how I’m no longer actually much more appreciated than I might be right now, I am so, I am so, elegant, you know

*

I am the only lover you can fuck in hell

*

I am bringing a silver teapot to your loaded table. You are sat alone, looking up from your newspaper as I swoosh-swish my silk-encased thighs. Standing by your elbow, I pour, leaning forwards acceptably to you. Shifting to a low slouch, you slide your left hand beneath my skirt, lingering on my stocking-tops, the cold bloodstone ring glancing my skin, and the starched bow of my apron, tied tight around my tiny waist, trembles.

*

lover you can fuck

*

Your heavy gold cuff-link upsets the sugar bowl. Cascades of finest sparkle sugar rush hissing to the floor. Holding the feather duster, lifting the white damask, I go crawling under the table.

*

you can fuck me

*

It is dark and cramped down there. Your knee nudges my head. I twist my upper body to face your splayed crotch, place my hand on the bulge area. You immediately get harder. I carefully lower your chrome zip, lift the thick of your cock, tight circle my fingers, tease the bare dome with my feathers. To remind ourselves of why we are here. To keep ourselves on the up. To not fall asleep, face first in the marmalade, over breakfast. My kiss slips wetly when I slide my lips over your cock, licking it with my tongue, firm or sloppy, hand squeezing up-down the stiffness, my fingertips gentling to cup your soft balls, almost helpless.

*

I hear the stirring of your teaspoon and the buzzing of your mobile ‘phone.

*

I open wider, and take the whole length of your cock to the back of my throat, to attraction your heart and soul. We go in-out-in-out in the thrusting position, until you are lurching ecstatic, spurting your frozen spunk in my mouth. I swirl it and swallow, tastes like angry afternoons, and I tuck you away, wiping my lips on your slacks with the knife-sharp creases.

*

fuck me in hell

*

When I get out from below, I stance my waif-legs either side of your chair. All this time and you haven’t really moved much. I swing you backwards and lower my chuff to your mouth. You look silly wearing my old-style fuzz as a tash-piece, I’m smirking as I look down, and meeting your eyes, we are laughing. Holding me by the waist, you tumble me onto the carpet, and we roll over and over in each others arms, like we used to.

*

fuck me in your own hell

*

I am picking myself up, brushing the silverware and porcelain aside, and bending across the width of the table. Standing close behind me, you spread my legs. I am luscious, with the crown of the lily exposed.

*

All I can hear is the breathing. All I can smell is me. All I can see is the fog.

*

Lay your index finger the lengthwise along my swollen red lips, keep it still for 2 minutes – that is a long time – now flex the tip, slip it in.

*

the only lover you can fuck in hell

*

You slice the edge of your hand down my soaking hot gash, all I can feel is the thrilling. You shove four cold fingers in to my mouth, all I can taste is the losing. You thrust your cold cock deep inside my hot stash, your eyes pop all shiny like your shoes do, the way you fuck suffocates time. You are in me right up to my nipples, if I were intact you would break me, my clit is almost too sweetly, sweat ready skin slush careens. I am slick engorged flesh pulsing throb red, the size of a planet in orbit. I am the actual solar flare of the moment, possessing the hot red fog, in case God truly exists –

*

I go up in flames on the end of your cock

*

You are fucking a pile of hot ashes

*

That’s how you like it

*

Heaped and weeping

*

*

foxes turn to stone in the alley

how does real love happen

pigeons drop from the sky

how does real love happen

oiled in irrational circles

all the time, care for it, up

*

*

The stars are opening their mouths really wide and they’re screaming out loud

he can see their teeth shining white light

the sky rips in half, right down the middle, and an avalanche of dirt pours out

dirt clouds gather, the stars move closer, screaming dirty words

*

she opens her mouth really wide, she wants you to climb inside

*

all he can see is dirt

this dirt survived the largest air-raids and most terrible plagues

he walks on the dirt, unhampered by history

dirt past, dirt future, it’s all the same fucking dirt

*

she rolls over and shows you her arsehole, she wants you to squeeze yourself out

*

he works in the dirt, heaving the dirt over his head, blinking when the dirt rains down on him. He shovels the dirt and he mutters and then he crawls all over the dirt, panting like a dog

*

climb to the top of that dirt mountain

egg worm belly frog drop

spread your stubby little legs

pull tubers and stones from your belly

your dirt is her dirt and her dirt is yours

show her the promise of dirt

*

he scoops a handful of dirt and he massages himself generously, seeking the release he likes

he rolls over, mooing and bleating, until dirt spills, belly-white dirt in the dark

*

The stars hang from their tin trapezes, twirling upside down, baring shiny teeth, leaking belly-white tears – 50 years, 50,000 years – the tears shed over dirt

*

he claws at the bosom of the dirt, burrowing the bulk of his whole body inside and under her soft damp dirt – head down, determined, tunnelling to her heavy core

*

her face is the dirt and her tongue is a pendulous dirt song

*

he carves out a hollow with his bare hands and he snuffles and snuggles, a rootling runt, blind in her bowels of dirt

there is no light in the dirt, only glory, and no space, only heat

and the soothing in-out of her breathing

buried alive, he thinks about types of dirt:

bible dirt . dumb dirt . dog dirt

shame dirt . soul dirt . brain dirt

dead . disturbing . dirt

proportions of dirt, dirt perspective

dirt in its manifestations

dirt dimension, dirt girl

*

she keeps eel worms in her hillocks, that’s why she moves so jelly flesh dirt

*

he discovers catacombs in the deepest dirt down inside the dirt girl, and he uncovers 9 trap-doors, where he can peek out, throwing dirty looks – when a dirt dude stumbles past he coerces him by the goolies, drags him to her dark domain, and she entertains and consoles them with dirt

*

this community of dirt dudes thrive in her mountains of dirt

they believe that if you are feeling unhappy dirt will help make you glad again

the dudes of dirt ride big dirt bikes, tell dirty jokes, die dirty deaths

kissing dirt

dirt to dirt

under the dangerous stars

dig it

*

*

leave your layered long cold charms

show her how you growth spurt

any time after petals fall

show her the promise of dirt

on blasted fruit

on killing grass

on pink grubs, waxing

*

*

It  might be said    slug belly hates embrace

here and there were      wiggle juice loves caress

let me remember      maggot bug jelly hates warm

let it go on      cold eel belly loves suck

tell your children      bad storm poppy hates stink

he formed wild theories      egg bruised bug loves small

here she began      maggot juice sticky hates late

behind the circle      egg worm slug loves free

he never understood      eel bug jelly hates taste

but she wanted it show me the dirt

he grew to believe some kind of dirt

*

*

You are soft and young and your teeth rival the shiny white teeth of the stars

but one night they will swoop down from the sky and bite off your head

the dirt of you will shoot from your neck stump to explode in the dark

and you’ll fail

like fireworks

KAPOW

*

*

flesh flame flowers

flesh flame flowers

paradise fossils are free

*

*

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8 responses to this post.

  1. I feel rather attached to and involved with these flames fog red rose dirt dudes ugly mistakes lovers you can fuck in hell.

    But when I stand back and just read I am pretty amazed. I like the contrast and similarities between the styles of Penny Goring and Marc Nash. I think you both make the reader dwell on every word every syllable every sound, but also you drag us or push us or rush us through the story/the prose so we are left a bit breathless at the end.

    Reply

  2. Penny this is amazing

    Reply

  3. Posted by heckadecimal on February 4, 2012 at 4:43 am

    Fuck.

    Reply

  4. This is utterly stunning, easily my favorite piece in the collection. You have the most brilliant style. It’s hallucinatory, alluring poetry-prose that pulls the reader through the experience like a sick man put out by medication and unable to escape his thick sleep.

    Reply

  5. […] published on Quiet Riot Girl: https://gamespervertsplay.wordpress.com/2012/02/03/paradise-fossils-are-free/ Like this:LikeBe the first to like this. Published: August 10, 2012 Filed Under: […]

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