cakeholes

Your face is a kind sufi collectanea.

You are no cloistered monk

waiting on

groundling guitar

strings.

I am impersonating an overdramatic caricature of every mortal at the moment

and you are not included. Could you be any more heavenly?

Your eyes are the midnightish black I want to stare into
when I cum.

I am pompous to offer you these etheric guitar strings, newly purchased

and would you amplify our amour which has not been fingerpicked yet.

It’s graceful love.

Cithara is my Roman womanly body that you now have new strings for.

The morality of my palace is in your hands.

How’s that for warlock love.

Our skin is flushed with

united desire.

Our cakeholes lick each other.

This icing is bigger than lust.

The Infinite strums a chorus that we have never known and

that is how we will know.   Eromania.

And it feels right.

I am thinking of

you.

i found you

The budding and evolving soil of a warm May morning

introduces your new life.

It is a bottomless breath and I find you on

my doorstep.  You smell like earth where the sprouts are trying and

your valour is a wild violet beanstalk, revealing its inside with a spellbinding

new colour.  You are not ornate and I want you at the novel burst.   There is soil

everywhere and your hands sprawl on the soft skin of my thighs.  The only time we

know is the hourglass that is my body.   We listen as the fresh ocean lobsters steam

in the cauldron and their squealing is nothing more than air escaping

their shells, they are already dead you know.  They do not cry. 

I am now ready to know your heart, introduce me to your aquarium

chest where I can spin unreservedly like a rejoicing mermaid.   A halo encircles

us and we find each other having slipped from land to water.   It is alien star water

and our home is light years away but for now we can just get to know each

other.

sailing

My blanket held tight to your bed space.

I know you left to inhale a few breaths of

our afterlife.  Fuck, I love you and your snoring

lion eyebrows.  You were panting over there and I listened.

Your heart told me to listen.

Thanks for looking after my gods while I was away.

I know the roses and all the whittled woods and the

soundless cheers struck the night slumber back to my life,

with you.  I feel your knuckle on my clit.

My loins pulse for you.

We both hunger like mother fucking lovers.

The Callapania Queen wears her dandelion crown

rejoicing our sex from her tall ship that sails in and out

of my home.  Your tongue is a sailor and I am your ocean.

My aura filled the corners of my cold house.

I watch longtails sail in and through

and then back out.  You were never

really here but I know you will be

soon.

Until then, I’m sailing.

kodiak

The sun and the moon are the ardent eyeballs of the Kodiak sky bear

unconsciously denning.  She chiffonades the stars with her paws.

The strands of sliced stars are no longer yawning cosmic waters

but cropmilk for mewling newborns.

Gulp.

We get raw and sensual with each other and that’s only the physical.

I scratch a sonnet onto the cavewall because I can’t wait to tell you.

You plunge onto me and we pant in each other’s face.

We hold hands and I know you’re here.

I was so tired of being alone that my mind started fucking up.

It’s a Mama Shango winter trick.  We all get a little sad and tuck it away

like a dirty cocktail napkin that was coastering my winter swig.

Here we are you and I.  We love each other with Kodiak bear monogamous devotion.

You make this so easy for me; I don’t even need a dirty cocktail napkin for us.

The bearded Gods always have serpents and I am a serpent.

And you are bearded.

We get raw and sensual with each other and that’s only the physical.

Gulp.

shen is a sun in love

We share these holy burnt willows while the Bennu cheep and flap about.

We have their nesting twigs.

You smolder a little and I smolder a little.

Our fingers twin each other and feel heavy like

Obsidian but in due course point to a sun that becomes a

Shen.

The roarer of the Shen is a Goddess who feeds us with

her laughter and some linear tundra crowberries.

We squint looking up to see her having a riot.

It’s contagious.

Love is so fragile.

raven black

Your raven black eyes boast the best innocence I’ve ever met.

What you can’t see is what I love.

I wake up with this craving to carve my underarms creating a home.

It’s like that is all I can think of – shifting the place where I want you to find me.

That definition requires dedication.

That is my alchemical hidden heaven.  It is the faultlessness.

The fat of the sun burns the lines of my godly underarm.

You touch the still water and I touch the seed fire.

And solar flowers grow.

And wolves’ ears become agile.

And the Goddess Circe reminds me that

panthers, pythons, and peacocks look at us with the eyes of men whom we knew long ago.

Let me find my Immortal Adam in your raven black eyes and tell him to drive himself on my pussy.

His red skin is the burns of the fat sun that we share.

Drink my ocean and find your home right

here.

You Should Bow

It was a cloudy morning when I took my cats away from you.

The prairie clouds part it only gets colder.

Cosmically, the cats were ready to perform their next hushed trade like the

pitmen of the Fascinating they serve and protect.

They swirl their languorous bodies and purred breath around my torpid legs and

I know they like to execute the unexplained

for me.

teehee.

Perhaps their black panther shadows are actually portals in the night sky when we

thought the sun was to bring sunny.  It is unseen supernatural of a naked blonde

high priestesses cultured in

blonde alchemy.

Her lips are fascinatingly pink.

I can feel their magic pulse as they swoop around my lower limbs.

Soon they’ll shift into my wooden walking sticks and they’ll clack

out prophecy that only the high

priestess can sing about.

Now the magic loiters for your mail box pick up.

I’m that grand.