I
Scene: A parlor. There is a floor, a floor covered with alternating squares. Two men face each other.
Equuleus: (stepping forward) Check!
Pavo: On what grounds?
Equuleus: She heard the knocking. Heard the thrum alongside your walls. Bricked into a castle before you had yet arrived.
Pavo :(about face, stepping left diagonally) As if curiosity fashioned itself a necklace, an aria of flesh, was strung, heavily down my throat…
Equuleus: Heard the dribble on your bottom lip…
Pavo: Until teeth found hold of his belt…
Equuleus: She gave supplication.
Pavo: Knotted in tongues. I found atman.
Equuleus: And I… gave her prana…
Pavo: And when my oblation was done, I lamented the dew, spilling off, from his tongue.
Equuleus: … and comfort, speckled against her face like the yearlings of a shooting star.
Pavo: (tilting head skyward) Orion…
Equuleus: (looking down, eyeing over his own crotch) Said I was more gigantesque…
Pavo: (Looking to the left) Horologium…
Equuleus: (returning head forward) …slightly
Pavo: (stepping to the right, with a smirk) Then, maybe her lips are now as loosened as the muscle you waxed over her brow.
Equuleus: Yet I did not pray it to be. Was just abundance before the asking.
Pavo: A coronation?
Equuleus: (hanging head) A plunging betrayal…
Pavo: (angrily)A split atom driving the moon!
Together: A coronation.
Equuleus: (about face, stepping forward, slyly) Yes. And She. Fucking. Wanted it. Down to her bones!
Pavo: (interjection) Down to your bone!.... (stepping to the right)Check!
Equuleus: (natural, defiant, and exuberant) And the sun rose on the 4th door of her labyrinth. The light, gnashed at her necrotic. The remedy, the exhumation, the wicked system of things, her womb, a baptismal shower, and to her I am king, I am, her promethean god, and when you beg back on your knees, ask her, does she forsake all others. And she will nod an open mouth, (bobbing head very slowly) and give you lips akin to orchids in return. She will sing harmonies in affirmation, and yet, crack her open and her heart shall beat in unison with mine.
Pavo: (pissed and proud, turning to face Equuleus) And yet!? You still feast upon the my proverbial, My throne, you cur, vis a vis, you antecedent, you brother to the night, the fledged beast lapping at my palm, and you, the child of my own rumination, the spawn of my inculcating, my dredging, my reverent tone, beating, betwixt her spring and breasts, I have laid whispers, unequivocal to rhymes of which you can never fathom, with a supple thumb, you will never find all the creases that I have ironed in her valleys. And yet, you who have created this atrocious monster, this abomination unto Venus, to you and her be the wretched kind …. surely Equuleus, even I, won’t save you from those damned starving mouths …
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