“He [the king] has, or takes, the land in his natural Body, yet to this natural Body is conjoined his Body politic, which contains his royal Estate and Dignity … and these two Bodies are incorporated in one Person” - Ernst Kantorowicz
She stands before a sculpture named Look
Where she unspools twine from the knots
She loosened from her wrists the sigils
Heaving like words in a throat opened
Her Prayer like a touch and boiling
Shiver turning the dust-clouds into rain.
He stands before a lectern named Wash
Where he uncoils ribbons from the holes
He cut through his fingertips the callouses
Spinning like words in a throat opened
His Confession like a breath and frothing
Sieve turning the faucet-spit into wine.
She stands before a cabinet named Him
Where she unfastens metal from the wounds
He fashioned from his longing the edges
Dulling like words in a throat opened
Her Mouth like an end and whistling
Language turning him and her into them.
He stands before a maelstrom named Her
Where he uncovers stardust from the skin
She buried in her histories the diamonds
Thawing like words in a throat opened
His Arms like a wish and rippling
Music turning her and him into them.
They step into a Body named Them,
A sovereign dressed in dashes – in the
Oneness — of blood and otherwise.
They wash the sheets — in their creases,
Hands like residue — they look until
They know — all has been taken in.
They caress the cracks — of their Body,
Rolling – with the force of water —
Against a charged calm of white,
These puppet strings, these finger blades
Melting into entropy – into thirsting skin.
Are you hurting? Can you know me?
Form – a dialogue of breath – that never
Speaks in anything but wind-chimes
I open — I am vessels — I open
A crescendo of self — the taste of
Salt — a latticework that pieced their
Organs into motion — their storm
Breaks in rearing stars and thunder —
In the grandeur and silence of a
Church bell falling. Wet and earning,
They hold their Body in a singular
Time — one unfinished, but crackling
Like Godhood just the same.
He stands before an artist named She
She stands before a painting named He
And the roil beckons, ebbs.