father
  by Cliff Roberts

once your lips brushed against my throat
and once i plunged wood through your heart

now we chant orgasmic rituals
moan eulogistic positions
in our impassioned play
of parental control
and offspring rebellion

thrashing and moaning
we flail against one another
lust burning so hot
tempers flare in cold flesh

each dominating
but no one submitting

father lover
lover son

mortal morality
dead as the grave
incestuous concepts
left beyond the veil

leaving a forever circle
of incarnating passions
that can never die

June '99