Our own kind of hot-as-hell, beautiful, brown home.
You remember the kiss hip moan you got but did not get,
the wet strands between your tips
your thrusting fingers their tender lips
There is the most powerful species named johnnycashi,
and his hooks there to restrain our fangs during sex.
before the nightclub, you stand staring at yourself in the mirror
drenched in dream-smoke, a fishbowl of lavender.
you trace the length of your collarbone.
I’ve always been magic – sprinkling fairy dust and bewitching rings of Saturn to orbit my equator with the switch of my hips.