The weather was lonely
along with the Jack of hearts,
who landed in my periphery
and of course with the
stolen Queen’s tarts and affections,
funny- oh irony,
stargazers stuck with
grey skied nights and
demon eyes,
silly dragon tongued boy,
breathing fire and
sex scented bedrooms
lit up the dark,
laughing and fucking and bending,
in and out of breath.

You and I
came together in
strange times of the Spider and
the cypher prophets,
floated along in the morning
and becoming ghosts
in the nighttime.
It’s gypsy witching
season friends,
I crave to hear your howls
and stomps on the earth,
changing the world
creating magic and sex and
brilliant sensual gospels.
I want to hear your wildness.
I dare you to be bold.

Affection drenched
in sarcasm,
we can fuck to the
rhythms of those sultry saints,
rock back and forth,
side to side,
in and out,
pulsing cum and revolution,
art designed
in thunderstorms and catacombs,
I’ll kiss you
soft and rough,
moaning out my religion
on your skin and bones.

Let me in,
I’ll undress your energy,
melt your breath into mine,
haunt and whisper,
taunt and tease,
dripping lace and lust,
spices and sensations linger,
as I dive into you,
and we are overcome.  

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