with a pinkish red slender tongue
and a singular set of balls i do
not lift a foot from the bed
but bury my duties within
the flesh of my woman:
harlequin vipers around us
and a terrible urgency to
finish what we started after
saying, “hello.”  The angel
of modesty fled with a precision
that buried a tray of common sense
while two human bodies melted into
one flesh – spiritually and physically
: we forgot we were human/feeling as
brilliant light\ from mistletoe and
sweet kisses.  we were the origin of
fire.
I passed through your sprawling hills
and you turned off the lights without
sowing terror – riddles forgotten.
  Your thighs a desert and my shaft
a delight.

:: 08.22.2020 ::