galactic things
Golden curls, the sun’s rays in my bed.
Expansive body; she’s a universe.
The black holes on her neck are moving.
Falling in, tongue first.
Take me please.
I only want to exist inside you.
But she pops me out.
And the whiplash cracks my neck.
My foolish jaw gapes –
God, I am perpetually twelve.
Maybe it is because…
I burrowed.
I burrowed deep into the Earth,
fossils were in my armpits, earthworms in my groin.
Any deeper and I would be in Hell itself.
That would be bold, huh?
Maybe it is because I am not bold.
My eyes haven’t left her girth –
curves, flabs, rolls, space.
I whimper but she doesn’t respond.
She’s busy with galactic things.