Siren’s Womb

“Is it really so sad and dangerous to be fed up with seeing with your eyes, breathing with your lungs, swallowing with your mouth, talking with your tongue, thinking with your brain, having an anus and larynx, head and legs? Why not walk on your head, sing with your sinuses, see through your skin, breathe with your belly[?]”
—Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, “How Do You Make Yourself a Body Without Organs”

“Six divisions ago, on a white-sun water world, we lived in great shallow oceans [...] we were many- bodied and spoke with body lights and color patterns among ourself and among ourselves.”
—Octavia Butler, Dawn (Xenogenesis Triology Vol. 1)

the room’s been flirting with the three of them casting 
nitrous dreamspace halfway across 
the ship dreamworking 
a most distant and familiar nonlocal warmth 
saffron hazy between slumber and wake 
a pine, ache, throb without object

her architecture is blurring ground softening 
into a six-inch bed of muddy topsoil sealed with epidermis her roof a lopsided dome 
sporting two large openings two gas-ferrying vents 
two vocal tracts 

two candescent apertures 

any past trace of the perpendicular shed away pillars melted into unruly stalagmites 
more meadow-like than cave the feeling of a wild soft outdoors 
nestled deep in folds of flesh 

the trio enter the neighbouring canal lost 
with more of an inclination to drift than navigate the wet heat 
indicating an exothermic locale 

no one is sober enough to remember exactly where the afters is 

motions of light pulsing through the flesh of her walls quicken 
in anticipation of her treasured crowd, illuminative trails 
guiding them toward her opening they enter crawling 
sweat breaking within several out-breaths air thick like yolk 
saturated 

not by humidity, scent, color, or other biochemical envoy but by the unbearable: 
to become different together an overspilt yearning not a lack to satiate 
but the gestation of a common wealth of needs unaccountable in 
pregnant becoming more than one less than two 
more and less than one more and less than three

the floor sweats profusely 

beads of moisture pool on its glossy skin through indiscernible curvature 
a basin forms 

their mass perspirations slipping toward center growing in volume and momentum 
like quicksilver sperm nosediving 
into boundlessness 

a low rumble 

the same resonant frequency as the tissues 
starts to grow a total vibration of everything 
through the pulse of interlocking hands hearts felt 
beating in iambic syncopation with a near-audible intensity out of sync 
but in time

the rumble snowballs into a rolling bassline rising sonic spiral 
setting in unstoppable motion frictionless caress shimmering notes 
in an arpeggiated dance of tangled limbs craned necks 
greeted by twin pillars of golden light face basking in 
cracks of crepuscular dawn thin columns 
strobing in halftime with cardiac kick 

she spits 
iridescent silk relational history history of differentiation translated 
into a single thread’s titanic length wrapping 
suturing binding implanting 
this opaline cocoon in her topsoil lining 

(sub)merged weightless 
dance of darkness beyond articulation 
unprecedented communicative ease writhing, rocking, spasming 
in this soft knit where do i end and you begin 
no cinematography more blissful than lover’s eyes the eye a patch of skin that fell in love with light sobbing drips of ecstasy 
lapping licking lambent