My hands are red against my ribs
the skin is marked with purple paint
and I rainbow in the gaps

though I lie motionless
my imagined lips contort
across the destinies of other's
craving shallow touch

each partner a slightly different waist
a different flavor

can these fantastic kisses
**** stars out from my soulfire?
or do they keep alive
my darling sweet desire?

My secret silent practice
my dancing under moon
may turn out to be witches work
and come to haunt me soon

I don't degrade by *******
I do not stoop to ****
But are these moments hights indeed?
Or bleeding cosmos,
love forlorn?