The Dying Body Chronicles 14: Desire

I wanna love you slow like blues,
like ice cream with all the toppings
on tongue, cool as skin after rainfall.

Let that sunshine on your bronze colour
gently girl, like that flower dying on
the sill. Come into this song on your tip

toes, all that hair in your hands,
all that loving in your hips, moving slow
to the saxophone plucking your ribs

open. I want to drink you where your
alleluia sleeps, where your wet dreams
drown the world in your chest.

Come on girl, be a sport. Part the red sea
for a goddess to come out & cast off
these chains that bind me to here.

Wow, I have whispered all the loving
into your ears & you are smiling like ripe
corn in the sun, the sweltering backs

of those tree trunk men bent in the
harvest. This is our world, where silence
can be any divinity we want.

This is our kingdom where we can
be gloriously imperfect. The flowers
in the garden gathering bees

to their petals like long lost lovers,
playing their tambourine as they
welcome their lovers into their light

colourful abode. Oh what wonderful
sonnets I could write you if I could battle
my demons quickly enough to pay

attention. These are the tithes
of a worshipper empty of coins
to make wishes with. Come girl

let me braid your hair in untidy
cornrows, paint your lips with
my tongue & slip my fingers within

the coils of your neck. Let the desire
be our goddess & let this bed
be our altar. Amin

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