Drinking from the Art Fountain ( an ephemeral becoming of a Jean Genet spirit homage to toilets for a short intervention at the White Cubicle Gallery in London

Drinking from The Art Fountain 

And the more low I go

so down

and lost

I have to recognise

that the only one

I am searching for

is you

You that hid

in the darkest

shades

there

where my soul

can't find you

There where

we can only

bite the heart

of the beasts

And yes

The lust again

under the stars

that we can't see

from the city

A lust

that appears

at any face

at any touch

Kisses so deep

and fingers

that taste

our wetness

Liquids

of what so many

had called Hell

A Heaven

That only lasts

a bit

while we go down

Down down down

Down on to this

that seems like

Oblivion

Flesh, skin and bones

tied to this present

Again

This is the place
where I meet you
a Temple
where we were
once sacred
The deepest
of holes
draining
golden drops
where the skin
learned the softness
of the cold tiles
This is the place
where the scent
is strong
profound
and wild
It would happen
again
an again
An always here
in that place
this lost and damp
territoire
And us