Prayer of the Kitchari
Seed of Life.
Tale of the mung bean.
Penetrate me.
Impregnate my health
with your throbbing carrot.
May my heaving bosom
tremble beneath the erotic caress
of your complex carbohydrates.
My olfactory sense
stimulates a primal urge
that will curry your Ayurve-dick
into our downward facing dog.
May my flacid dosha
be made turgid
when you cumin-side me.
Thanks for the sex.
Oh! Great Seed of Life!
Tara Dillon & Briay Conditt, cant remember date will get back...
@ Blue River, Colorado
Pho-Play
four haiku
I.
Slurp the wet noodle.
Yes! Nice! O, so very nice!
Mmm! That is tasty.
II.
Insert you pepper
inside the savory hole.
So spicy! O ya!
III.
Comforting caress
is your broth to my pallet,
Salty warm and broad.
IV.
Deep in nourishment.
Relishing in your essence.
Swallowed never spat.
Briay Conditt, 9.9.2016
(In collaboration with he who does not want to be named) @ Fermeantra
A Night with Aubergine
Aubergine...
tender, cooing
luster co-created.
And you
upraised by my implements
plated to catch
every trace
of you.
The stars in my eyes
map constellations
on your skin...
the velvet of midnight.
I unsheathe my knife
and you open for me.
As heat seizes innocence
your edges soften
consummating sapor
while the sauce ravages
your sweet flesh
coated by hands
firm yet swift.
Meet me on the dining table
with your warm, dewy unspeakable.
I want you all over my face.
Until I'm full of you,
satisfaction cums not...
Aubergine.
Tara Dillon & Briay Conditt, 10.8.2016
@ Briay's Living Room, Denver
Conjuring Seed
Size and shape
rotund, ample, capable
Heed the call
of my freshly weeded patch.
Finger and thumb
move toward the bum.
Enter the earth-hole.
Let's have some fun!
Trick or treat.
Out burst the seed
slimy and salty.
Let big gardener feed.
Cauldron bubble.
Flesh orange and supple.
Enter the pot.
Dirty deeds shall rot.
Tara Dillon & Briay Conditt, 10.25.16
@ Briay's Kitchen Table, Denver
Morning After in Dublin
seven haiku
I.
Large Irish sausage
Violent with flavor, hot.
Thrust out from two eggs.
II.
Cooked over-easy
upon initial entry.
Then cooked over-hard.
III.
And the yoke sealed.
Only the strongest forking
can set it running.
IV.
Rashers collide with
saucy and sapid legumes.
Excite my fervor.
V.
I soak your sauce up
with thick soda buns, buttered...
Spread generously.
VI.
Juice from the strong meat
Explodes warmth inside my mouth
None will go to waste.
VII.
24 hours.
Breakfast is good anytime.
I'm not religious.
Briay Conditt 11.30.16
@ Phillipe's in Paris, After I flew in that evening from Dublin.
Southern Pleasure
Desire...
Mansuetude will not ease you.
Your callus scheme can only
be softened by forceful,
and perpetual emissions
of my rich, salted, love butter.
Fevered oil deflours
your impassioned coating
Until your thighs make an audible quiver
Rapture...
I tease your yearning
with breath to subdue your heat
Preparing you...
I prepare myself
to rake my hands
across your conceding form
One touch...
Your syrup...
Sticky on my fingers
A slave to the craving,
I lick them.
Your full-fat thighs spread
guiding me to what lies at the center:
your soggy waffle.
It's time to eat...
Tara Dillon & Briay Conditt, 12.8.16
@ Briay's kitchen (on the dining table)
Maize Runner
Unshuck your hairy dimpled cob
Im gonna floss with your pleasure fibers
Lather your pole with butter, unsalted
Im gonna steady myself over its quivering hardy base
Do you really think your leafy stalk can satiate my irrigated trench?
Strip your yearning juice capsules Into my fertile field
I'll hoard the drippings as you eagerly yield a bountiful harvest
Stop!
You loamy kernel!
Did I say you could crown yet?!
Now I have to send your furry yellow hog back into its hole
Winters coming early for this disobedient bulb.
Briay and her Muffle Puffle 1.08.2017
@ Briay's bedroom floor
