love is temporal,
I am assured by glances.
because I seek it.
because I open hand.
because I press your
barbed chest to mine.

this blood
emancipates me.

“Scorpio”

sparkling explosion of
cellophane and
champagne nails
down the
back.
fallen glitter
dances
on a throat:
roving crescent moons
from everywhere a lip hit
and pieces of gold dust
rolled off my eyelids
down my nose.
painted like a porcelain cup;
delicately, glass heart,
handle.

bare mattress,
ripped each corner of
sheet off and
me licking a cheek.
I’m telling him
ghost stories and
eating berries in bed,
mouth filled with laughs.
I’m in an afghan
sinking my teeth into
a very soft and bronzed
shoulder,
straddled with bare feet
and bravado drips from every
inch of me.
and what else?

I’m somewhere else.

bare faced.
finally.


scarlet blaze that starts when they
peel away.
an unreturned question
stop annihilating things
to remove one
part.but then I straighten up.
finally.
we watch the black night
burst into yellow dots
and I
lick your earlobes.
try your fingers on.
feel my back pressed
into yard, open
eye at you.

fall in.

you became red.
  I became an unwatched bull.
your flags,
my Venus.

I’ve got to chase
whatever sprints
first.

3

(Venus in Leo

Venus in 12th house)

took me on the grass
coaxing me with fireflies,
big sky you would show me.
  I licked your earlobes,
wafting. felt secure
denying you.

your chest pressed
hard against mine,
barbed.
there’s this place I am
trying to get to.
but i don’t say it.
just let the weight settle.
let the rush take form.

2.

I remove the rest of my top
and close my eyes deliberately
to show you the length
of each thorn.
wear my eyes like a hooked rose.
tongue pressed
against your chin,
my lips trace
your jaw       I am softer.
having been tempered
and forced close:
you know,
darling,
let my teeth hit your lip

I have never
become divine without first
becoming storm.

 been learning
performative emotion
to keep the ones I’m fettered
to warm, and to feel their
slippery manacles tease
the tops of my feet
like feathers as they pull
me back.
paint my lashes black


and they’re wet 
and
shaped like little
bolts.

1.

I’m obsessed with process
and transition;
the form it takes.

metamorphosis– freeze,
liquefy and
precipitate, or the moment
before– just to
reform without final
shape. stuck.
or testing permanence
with concrete.

after all that patience
and miles of crouch
through the city,
knees broken,
admiring chalked mortar and filling
the jacket lining
with lip gloss, your ardor
growing big and bright
pulling things towards you
like the moon; oh
to be suddenly seized
by your habits again.

your hand on my back.
it’s just one breath,
that’s all it takes.

“the men” 

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