WILLIAMSJI MAVELI WRITES.....

THE UNTAMED SUBSTANCE
Forget the skin you think you know,
this shape, this lazy, given light,
a mere disguise, a courtesy for eyes
that barely learn to linger.
If I unleashed the Substance,
the molten, hungry Me inside,
you wouldn’t witness me for even
a breath’s suspension.
I would move—
a slow, erotic shudder
that stirs the fundamental dust,
and the earth-grit beneath your heel
would ache, would yearn to yield,
converting, particle by heated particle,
into a body of sheer, inescapable sin.
Not a moral stain, but a thick, viscous delight.
I’d thrust my hands into the soft clay of your gaze,
and with a knowing, ruthless thumb,
mix the honeyed curve of the feminine
with the hard, necessary thrust of the masculine.
I would confuse the concepts
of Beauty until it was nothing
but a deep, shared pulse,
a genderless, hungry, beautiful friction.
You wouldn't see me.
You would feel me—
the relentless, electric Shift
in the core of everything you touch.
My shape is not for seeing.
It is for sensation.
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI