Spice

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.