Not quite a hurricane
but a wind that still blows,
holding love aloft.
I prefer to be behind the scenes
like god,
observing the audience
through a ***** in the curtain.

I am prophecy self-fulfilled,
but I’ve been before mistaken.

Surprised to learn
that they embrace what they ****.

her eyes pluck him
like harp strings
sing for me, boy.
do you sell your voice
like you sell kisses?

she does not have strings.
he would not pluck them
if she did.