I am trying to be honest,

but I write so fucking flowery
it makes me sick,
rose scented stars & love.


No.


Her: helpless as a lamb,


I want raw, aching
bone against bone
exploring the exposed, naked
poetry of her universe-

( warm, celestial hands
       forging sandcastle ribs. )

Southern earth beneath her feet,
wanderlust burned like Apollo's touch
into her spinal cord,  please awaken
the empty space between her skin


& mine.