The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Selfish

You may whisper against my ear
but it is I who allow the shudder
to blossom from my spine tingling
a warm birth of unnecessary indulgence
spreading across my temples with
salted angel tears etching my metal
machined gundam and I the yolky
refulgence wordless with fingers 
upraised in a circular gesture 
tracing the chakral distension
wiping the temporal flow right
and spacial form left and lingering 
attention settles lazily at the lingam
plucking softly strung feathers
as spritely aspirations flitter about
among the jostle of finely woven circuits
embroidered with ecstatic impressions
the forest monsoon condensing to a
crystalizing nebula manifold with kind
fauna foraging between the morals
cast at the feet of the immortals
a celtic knotwork of eyes and apples
chasing each other between the 
crimson ribbons waxing to a ruddy
play where slothy words never catch 
the hider or lie long enough to
kiss the seeker's fulcral prayer.
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