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Red or Let’s Spend the Night Together

Author: 
Richard Scott

I move my lips without really even realising I am doing it 

so there is something of him in the red of my mouth, a 

vowel or hoo molten and coating. The voiceless ‘h’, exhalation, 

reoccurs silently in my mind as if he were breathing over my 

tongue. Hunky fusion machine. 

 

 

 

 

Interconnectedness – 

his cupid’s bow arching over mine, non-local particles 

reacting, orbicularis oris phasing in, out, orbiting – is a kind of 

physics. Interdimensional kiss folding in on itself like a star. 

Supermassive neutron collapsing in hot gloss bomb colours. 

 

 

 

 

Blood rich lyricism. 

He’s been on my mind – live in Hammersmith 1973 

pulsating in a cut-off unitard. His limbs are nebula-like; bars of 

gaseous red under the gel. Blowing kisses, I catch one fifty 

years on. This is for me, he says. By which he means this is 

for me, Richard. 

 

 

 

 

Inflections, mantle, his sexiness form a zodiac constellation. 

7, 1, 83, Small Magellanic Cloud – of flesh. A piercing through 

the red-black flank. Out of my head. I’m h-h-h-high on this 

ventriloquism. Erasing. The lyric I is an alien. Pink river 

dolphin chirping in syntax. 

 

 

 

 

Jaunty piano sharps, 

occasionally pentatonic, lighting up the auditory cortex like a 

comet’s tail. Like ionisation. Neon red and lit from within. 

His voice, a solar radiation. The tiny bones of my ears. The

belt, the parabelt receiving direct input. Fuzzy centaur. 

 

 

 

 

I cannot adequately translate my mind’s arachnid locomotion 

as it reacts to his song. Hibiscus-hued nerve impulses, a 

miniature and internal lightning. The redness extinguishing 

ambivalence is need. My yearning. A kind of gravitylessness. 

Maronite electricity grazes the Kármán Line.

 

 

 

 

I ask my friend about his song and she says, oh I don’t know – 

sexual healing or something. Shards of red howlite melt down, 

are recrystalised, within the furnace of his mind. Space-red 

rock. Lattice system aching, rebranching, stave-like. I’m often 

moved, rarely healed. 

 

 

 

 

I am night. Red night. My fooling mouth deciding on need. 

Him, transcendent, guiding us around and around and around. 

Together is no excuses. Together is hey, hoo, h-h-h-high. 

My mind smiling now. Young and ephemeral amalgamation. 

We hang above the lunar occultation of Mars. Strong. Defined.

 

 

 

 

I listen to Let’s Spend the Night Together 

continually for one night so do we spend the night together? 

His tongue, my ear disappear into each other completely. An 

event horizon. Red luminosity humming itself into me like 

quasar light penetrating the singularity. Aperture finally visible. 

 

 

 

 

My imagination is quantum. 

I am fragmented by resonances, intention, flowing from his 

mouth and the associated Brownian, red, noise. Annunciated 

waves that roll like firework theory static. That will not be 

stopped on flesh. Fixated glam queering. A futuristic patina 

scabs the wound. 

 

 

 

 

Connection to him – 

persona, lick of gas giant pink darkening to red – is a ghost

particle, unphysical state. Clavicle. Accretion disk. Red 

mouth. Red tongue. Retrograde motion. The red dwarf of his 

body satelliting towards me. Red life. It was such a clear 

invitation to have sex.