lepidoptera
He calls in the middle of the night, in cars, at Main Street at Disneyland, and in his bedroom when everyone sleeps. I feel the pull of his hands, as he twists his hair with his finger. I feel him across the miles. His hands should be on me. Sometimes, he sighs, full and soft, and I know he wants to be tracing a fingertip across my broad cheekbones, along my fat lips, and long, narrow nose.
He tells the world that he is a collector, and I need collected, pinned like a rare South American butterfly, and kept in glass like a Japanese beetle. Examine me, I say, spreading my legs like wings and then, I am free: fragile heartbeat sound of wings, the rise of gossamer bodies. He lets me land in his palm and then, releases me. I believe that I was his before I ever knew him.
The Swiss-Italian with sharp features and a soft baby-nose keeps shooting me inquisitive glances and attempting to flirt with the drop of an eyelid, but I cannot be bothered to care. I am in a room full of butterflies. If I open my lips, I will hatch cocoon to wing, sending pollen and powder all over the world. I would kiss his eyelids-delicate skin, pulse humming-with butterfly wings and take his mouth with teeth. Hard-love, passion-fury, and then, a pause.
He said once that we were jazz musicians, and he’s right. We’ll populate the world with trumpets golden as nectar, make songs built on the rustling of wings, the tender way certain insects have of alighting onto a flower and waiting. They don’t know what they are waiting for, but they wait. We provide the music, the syncopation that lends everything life.
We are infinite and unending, stronger than history or the past.
Morpho peleides limpida
P.S. I really have a little musical crush on Ben Lee. I think you should, too. Consider these lyrics, so fitting today and every day-‘cause he thinks your body is a dream that turns violent.
“Get Gotten”
OK, baby,
what'll it be?
I asked my friends, and they all agreed:
you're exactly the kind of trouble that I need.
I got songs to give;
I got songs to prove,
songs I use when I wanna seduce, and I wanna seduce you.
Why won't you let me?
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
I won't stop ‘til I get to the bottom.
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
I got big, big dreams
in a small, small world,
and I'm using God to pick up girls,
and I'm willing to put it all on the line.
I got words that destroy,
words that build.
I use words and feel no guilt about it.
I got words that go bump in the night.
It's no secret that I’ve fallen.
I won't stop ‘til I get to the bottom.
It's no secret that I've fallen.
'cause first you're ripe,
and then you're rotten.
Don't stop 'til you get to the bottom.
First you're ripe,
and then rotten.
Once I knew,
but I've forgotten,
I find out when I get to the bottom.
Once I knew,
but I've forgotten.
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
I won't stop 'til I get to the bottom.
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
-----
“No Right Angles”
I’ve been thinking 'bout the straight and narrow,
slip-sliding ‘round the back of my hand.
I keep turning and it’s almost tomorrow.
I’ll find a way to make you understand
there are no right angles in my life,
no right angles in my life.
Right now, I’m hearing nothing but silence.
High beams are on; I can feel you.
Every piece contains a little bit of violence,
and you've changed so much but it’s still you.
No right angles in my life,
no right angles in my life.
So breathe,
feel the open space,
leave it all behind,
coming into grace.
No right angles in my life.
There are no right angles in my life.
Suspicious minds, and you’re back on the warpath,
all the things you think are up my sleeve.
Though you tell me that I’m just like a circle,
somehow you still don’t believe
there are no right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life.
So dream,
let your body play.
Anyone in need,
give it all away.
No right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life.
I’ve been thinking 'bout the straight and narrow,
slip-sliding ‘round the back of my hand.
I keep turning and it’s almost tomorrow.
I’ll find a way to make you understand
Please,
taste the sea you sail.
Baby, I believe
there’s no way you can fail.
No right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life.
He tells the world that he is a collector, and I need collected, pinned like a rare South American butterfly, and kept in glass like a Japanese beetle. Examine me, I say, spreading my legs like wings and then, I am free: fragile heartbeat sound of wings, the rise of gossamer bodies. He lets me land in his palm and then, releases me. I believe that I was his before I ever knew him.
The Swiss-Italian with sharp features and a soft baby-nose keeps shooting me inquisitive glances and attempting to flirt with the drop of an eyelid, but I cannot be bothered to care. I am in a room full of butterflies. If I open my lips, I will hatch cocoon to wing, sending pollen and powder all over the world. I would kiss his eyelids-delicate skin, pulse humming-with butterfly wings and take his mouth with teeth. Hard-love, passion-fury, and then, a pause.
He said once that we were jazz musicians, and he’s right. We’ll populate the world with trumpets golden as nectar, make songs built on the rustling of wings, the tender way certain insects have of alighting onto a flower and waiting. They don’t know what they are waiting for, but they wait. We provide the music, the syncopation that lends everything life.
We are infinite and unending, stronger than history or the past.
Morpho peleides limpida
P.S. I really have a little musical crush on Ben Lee. I think you should, too. Consider these lyrics, so fitting today and every day-‘cause he thinks your body is a dream that turns violent.
“Get Gotten”
OK, baby,
what'll it be?
I asked my friends, and they all agreed:
you're exactly the kind of trouble that I need.
I got songs to give;
I got songs to prove,
songs I use when I wanna seduce, and I wanna seduce you.
Why won't you let me?
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
I won't stop ‘til I get to the bottom.
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
I got big, big dreams
in a small, small world,
and I'm using God to pick up girls,
and I'm willing to put it all on the line.
I got words that destroy,
words that build.
I use words and feel no guilt about it.
I got words that go bump in the night.
It's no secret that I’ve fallen.
I won't stop ‘til I get to the bottom.
It's no secret that I've fallen.
'cause first you're ripe,
and then you're rotten.
Don't stop 'til you get to the bottom.
First you're ripe,
and then rotten.
Once I knew,
but I've forgotten,
I find out when I get to the bottom.
Once I knew,
but I've forgotten.
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
I won't stop 'til I get to the bottom.
I wanna get you,
so get gotten.
-----
“No Right Angles”
I’ve been thinking 'bout the straight and narrow,
slip-sliding ‘round the back of my hand.
I keep turning and it’s almost tomorrow.
I’ll find a way to make you understand
there are no right angles in my life,
no right angles in my life.
Right now, I’m hearing nothing but silence.
High beams are on; I can feel you.
Every piece contains a little bit of violence,
and you've changed so much but it’s still you.
No right angles in my life,
no right angles in my life.
So breathe,
feel the open space,
leave it all behind,
coming into grace.
No right angles in my life.
There are no right angles in my life.
Suspicious minds, and you’re back on the warpath,
all the things you think are up my sleeve.
Though you tell me that I’m just like a circle,
somehow you still don’t believe
there are no right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life.
So dream,
let your body play.
Anyone in need,
give it all away.
No right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life.
I’ve been thinking 'bout the straight and narrow,
slip-sliding ‘round the back of my hand.
I keep turning and it’s almost tomorrow.
I’ll find a way to make you understand
Please,
taste the sea you sail.
Baby, I believe
there’s no way you can fail.
No right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life,
there are no right angles in my life.