Part Five: Mythology of Pussy



Lick the pussy lightly, like a feather in the wind. Don't devour it like a Mike Tyson cannibal, "...so greedy for my lady, I turn her womb into a tomb.... Be cool, fool, go away and pray and pray and pray." Yes, pray on the pussy, bless it with kindness until the lips open and spread wide, stroke it til juices flow like Niagara Falls washing your face with love. Oh, the juice of love in the night or early morn.

When joy comes do not spoil the hour with negative ideas, but open the heart of love as the bird cage opens for the bird to take flight only to return when it wills. There is no compulsion in love, for love is not to be forced but happens when it happens, so let it happen on its time not yours, for what do you know of love except when it speaks and you are silent, only then you gain understanding and wisdom. Be silent is the best mode, not the lips that chatter when silence is glory. In silence all things come to you for pleasure, because you are deserving and so the pussy runs over with the juice of love. And you have not touched it with tongue or finger or penis, but the silence of your mind is read by the pussy and so it came running as a lover in search of lost love, that eternal love beyond pussy and dick and silly gender notions of the infantile ones who dwell on the animal plane.

Imagine, the pussy is far away yet so near you smell it, feel it, stroke it until it comes, yet it is not there, only a thought, a memory of time past when pussy was young and fresh and wild, and you ran to it and it embraced you on the beach, in the wind and sun. There was no shame, no guilt, no greed, just innocence of time and place, not even knowing you were in paradise, heaven. It was the best of times and they did not end but reappear even now in the fourth quarter of your life. There is joy and joy knows you and welcomes you home with open arms and lips. Be gentle, ask for nothing because all is yours. No one can have what is yours, for the door only opens for you and you alone. It is no effort on your part, it is the voice of the wind, the falling leaves say it is yours for your labor under the sun.

--Marvin X

www.marvinxwrites.blogspot.com

"He's the USA's Rumi!'--Bob Holman, Bowery Poetry Club, New York