November 10, 2021

Writing Exercise #7

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Inspired by a comment by beloved Christopher Ropes on fb.

Everyone watches One. One is flash and startling beauty, One is unearthly, clearly one of Gods chosen. One is a tropical bird, a dart frog, the creature that looks predators in the eye and shakes their ass and says, why don’t you try me? One is wild, feral and so good at their job. Most misunderstand the flamboyant beauty of One, they feel lusty heat, avaricious desire, they want One, they want to possess One, One is the aspirational violent dream made flesh. 

Two no one watches. Two is, Two is nice. Two looks friendly, Two is a nice word on a slightly inconvenient day, Two is steady and solid. Two speaks gently, Two is the gentle “hi guys” no one hears when One is on display. Two is normativity and comfort. Two is the one you hold hands with at the Famer’s Market on Sunday, Two is the craving for solace and light in winter. 

Together, they are completion. One does their job, shining bright- a whirlygig to bring them running. One flirts, One oozes and glitters, stirs desires until it is time. One leaves them wanting, leaving on a gust of heat that strokes the skins of the most desirous, the most covetous. They want One, they follow One even as they hear the little, “hi guys”. One shines, One shouts, One is the hot wet ichorous concupiscence no one can forget. One is the poison flower, to hold prey. 

Two sees, Two can taste the moment. Their voice, so usual, cute but not over so, familiar, warm enough to encourage the flicker of a smile that fades as the prey beholds One. Two, knows when One has them, and while they are enchanted Two gets to work.  

“Hi guys.” 

When they hear Two, it is already over. One has left them ripe, fecund and ready. In their locus of desire they find comfort in Two. Until they look into those eyes, the friendliness drains and takes all hope at heat and life with it. Two is the teeth, Two is the danger, Two is jovial death come to feast. And all at the last, every one of them would dream of One while the last thing their wretched minds know is that familiar little voice, “hi guys.” 

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