it's my primal bite and extinguished aphorism. it's the late night glances praying for earth to be less cold and more clean. it's more than the feeling of being scratched in the back of your mind each time you belong in my skin. because for us, we kiss the hours of gold and few longing. and would you believe it? i am a three-selved woman who dines on your god since you talked to me past two moons now. a clockwise confession i yearned for years but i watched it slowly as it melted holy on your tongue. let me tell you about october, libra. let me tell you about love when the flesh burns and the threshold is nothing but decay.
mid-summer and you ferment on my back like fresh greece and grapewine. say, how do i fill you about desire and still be hungry for it? how do i unclench these fists and not remember each muscle memory limb by limb? fuck the seeds of pomegranate. let no painting drain you and starve the beauty i drink from your juice. i will turn peach and pink for you. even so, this is love. and so, this is softness cleaved in two to tender the grazing part of you of us. what do you say if you stick in my palms and you eat me whole and we never perish after the sun? oh, it's my bloodline bending backwards reaching saturn for ninetynine. it's your first fingers inside me slipping heavy but slow. the late night foraging of our flesh. baby, look at my body now: all sore and sweat. aren't you hungry, oh wouldn't you feed me?