The desire to write on your body.
We will sit on the bed, oblivious, and write upon each other's bodies with deft concentration. *Nous nous ecrirons.*
I'll save some of the best for your collarbones.
How long could this go on? For we are mere mortals, mere writers.
When all the skin of each of us is covered with writing, we will begin filling in the empty spaces offered by margins and loops.
On your body I will write a tiny poem, four hundred lines perhaps, in the loop of a "d". This "d" will be found at the end of the word *sound*, written earlier on the smooth outer curve of your breast, itself the end of a poem.
When all these margins and loops are filled, we must write more tinily yet.
(It is a difficult but necessary word, tinily. In this it is like the word *anankschen*.)
We take breaks to eat, make love or read. And we write on each others bodies:--*s'ecrire*.
Our love a lesson in writing's grammar *muss sein*.
I desire to write the history of the [ ] on your body.
Where do I begin?
Down between your thighs, an inch from your cunt, I copy the first verses of Genesis.
I move out from there in circles, or small loops, up and down your body with a sharp little stylus.
And you yourself are writing on me. *Nous nous ecrirons.*
Should I write the Ten Commandments on your thumbnail, so that every ten days, when you clip your nails, a Commandment or two will fall away? For good?
I am a shamefaced heretic of late. My writing has become a vice. I am taken into it.
Where do we go from here, love?
Finally they'll find our bodies entwined on a rotten mat in a buried city. HERCULANEUM CITY.
My papyrus cock will be folded neatly into your papyrogyne--which means: your papyral cunt.
Our bodies, hollowed manuscripts, will be only somewhat collapsed. Only the thinnest surface skin of our bodies is preserved, written carefully with layers of text.
Even the bones have shivered to dust, and the lenses of our eyes have certainly shivered.
We'll be a heap.
(NOTE: The oldest known papyrus was uncovered in Egypt. It dates to the First Dynasty, sometime around the end of the fourth millennium B.C. It is a blank sheet, a fact about which scholars have grumbled considerably. But who of them have dared to decipher this oldest papyrus by putting their pens to it? And having so much space open to them thereon, how can they ever have thought to grumble?)
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