Clash and unclash our bodies, gardens
of peach and flesh and pink,
the dark of your hair and the light of mine,
white for the skin between
our hips

A prison of flesh, bones; blood is the key
and I like the idea of you
parting my thighs like petals
to kiss the core of me, the stamens and pistils
that make me your love-baby-girl
(my flower addiction started
with you)

Your hips come and go like the tide

Our eyes are dark like the bruises
that you left in abundance
over my hips
and your kisses taste of pollen--
you’re (so) pure Shadow-boy,
Nightmare-boy, Halloween-boy. Rose-boy.

These names I scream into the skin
that cloaks your jugular with modesty
and Adam’s apple,  flesh
that pulses with your techno-heartbeat
spasms shared by your thrusts
and I cherish the thought,
write it down with gasps and pants and
the tightening of muscles,
gripping thighs.

The night sky fills you up fills me up,
my nails having left moons in your shoulders
and stars in your veins,
sweat like fireworks across your thin chest--
can I find genesis? I can try

Dear God, forgive him no me
                                                     for I no we have sinned.


                            ...



(But the secret I heard mingling in our moans
was that be both
secretly
liked it.)