Poem: Phantasmagoria

here is that man

here is that man with the hands that have not harmed me. 

their love has made an island out of me

they must’ve talked alone, 

hidden treeful spots where candied light gets in 

 

 kissing, soft soft slow. 

new and beautiful,  must’ve sparkled if gone any further 

sweat, spit, dew. 

 cotton shirts and shorts soaked in sunshine

behind his tongue, a blooming red bloody flower. 

 

birds and bees privy

to this new religion, 

buzz with the movement

enthralled at this new perfume 

rising like steam.

 

 Night coating

 with it's velvet cream

 eyes adjust, yes

 glancing at each other’s whites, gleam.

 

 Going in for his neck

soft, salty, dried off from the sea. 

tasting more, giddy from sin. 

 All skin, spit and death

during this necessary dance in blood -

a petal in my mouth!

laughter refreshes the heavy air, 

must've been so hungry for God

while wearing our funeral wreath around our waists. 

 The animal act ended                

ritual complete.

 laying there, breathing in sync, 

                                               

the fireflies crowd and form a senate

the midges prepare for the morning heat.