She doesn't understand her
biology.
Her need for extra attention.
Her desire to
chirp and meow
constantly, and raise her
**** in the air.

She gazes out the
window with
longing in her
golden eyes.
Her calls through the
screen bring no
visitors.
Little lonely orphan.

She sits with me while
I write at my large
maple desk.
She swats at the
purple orchid.
It drives her batty.
I've been there.
Lost in the
smell and taste of
flowers.
She wanders over to
the Starry Night
painting and looks
dizzy at the sky.
She lifts her **** in
the air and stutter steps
rapidly with her
back paws.

When I got her and
her sister, I thought they
had *****.
I named him (her)
Bukowski.
She comes to the
name
and seems to like it.
Pray for me.
Buk's in heat.

And in the winter,
While she was still small and cold
I watched the sun rise to meet me, her smile
Softening the frost in my soul
.
And now sweet summer heat
Begins to bear down with heavy hand
I go out to meet her once more
At dawn, now twice the journey -
I rise early to watch her unfolding flower
And yet still the same tender light does shine
In that fragile hour

Your eyes drip hot wax
on the bare of my back.
I 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮 at the 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯,
𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲.
  
I dont make a sound
as it cools down.
Your 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦 fastened 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵,
𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗸𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲.

You flash me your teeth -
I forget how to breathe.
And I 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦, I can't 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦
𝗜 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
    
So I fill up the room
with the scent of my mood.
Can't 𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘺 you get 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩
𝗼𝗳𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗼𝗼.
    
Your tongue licks your lips.
Hungry, I am your fix.
Well 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 in your 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥
𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀.

You follow my gridlines,
I etch you in fineline.
𝘌𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥, we've 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘥
𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘀.
  
Your skin sends out shivers
to make my hips quiver.
They're 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 and 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲.

I keep it discrete
as you watch me low key,
til 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 on the
𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗿.


▪︎ mica light ▪︎

Put me in the shade in the middle of the day
Because I don't like the way the light hits my face
But in a light breeze when things aren't so hot
And there are clouds overhead in little white spots
Thats when I feel like I'm living the most
Because life is mostly sunny with a hint of the cold

You are a slow lava flow
hard rock over a
flowing magma heart.

The catch of your breath
feels like a mountain shaking.
You are a calm surface,
a gentle heat,
and every mineral I need.

you may never explode,
but any good geologist would agree
a volcano is the best way to go.

let me die
still studying
the very heart of you,
in 50 years or so.

left our things
cratering the desert;
palms upturned
pulling the pressure away -
soft-words
talking down the crumpled spine of loss.
the sand,
the sand.
if it wasn’t so fine,
would you be able to trust
the mistaking of
abrasion for absolution?
will you be able to forgive
the belief
that a collapse can come
with good intentions?

clipping a trail
  through the un-mown grasses of prehistory
i am reduced and nuded 
  by the buoyant vat   of sky baby blue

the grasses seed the heels of my work clogs
spiking sensory jabs through my socks
      a shy petting of pain

with the prow of my stride
  tiny residents vault scut and flutter
neatly evading   un panicked

radiating wet heat raises to my waist
i stop my destructive wading
i am slit, vulnerable and fed
i am primitive and free
i have membership
my uniform   banished

i take in a humid breath

about face
       and the illusions are switched
the buildings icon dominates
       and draws my responsibility
i can smile at the wash of life
       and reinstate myself in paid labour