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your mouth will graze the nape
of my cinnamon stick neckline and your hands will thread through me
like schizophrenic bumblebees
unconcerned with the tastes and smells
that would leave the squeamish unsettled- commanded by instinct [a wild antelope, red-blooded, ready to fuck and fight]
[a fish hooked,
dripping with depraved sensuality,
gasping for air
in this hopeless perversion] painting pornographic memories under the moon’s surveillance we will be
licking
one
another
clean long after the sun is born again and the earth will know that something overwhelming and unavoidable has occurred.
7:38
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