Farmer

I confess an obsession:

Men with a penchant

For working the earth

Heavy hands

Whiskey lips

And eyes 

Wide with dollar signs

Their cum tastes like
Tobacco and honey
To them, I taste like

Forgotten divinity

How do they always find me?

No compass

No heartbeat

Still a moth will fly

Toward the blinking green light.

Little King

In my arms
I hold a little king

called Roshi.
Let him know the law of three. 
In his arms

A king holds me.
Let him know the law of three.
In those arms
He holds everything.

Gravida and Parity

Once I learned to calculate 
What is contained in a single soul
I tied a red thread around my wrist

To serve as reminder
Not to make a wish.

Surely it is natural that rage is my center
When under duress;

Souls move through fire, eating up the air
Pregnant with an emptiness
Unknowable without first
Having felt its fullness.

Instincts are earned

Through foolish mistakes;

It is the duty of the Priestess

To teach us

The alchemy of transmuting 

Knowledge from regrets.

The Lion I beckon

A golden feline full of pride

Will come in his own time

If I look away 

And patiently wait.

From the bottom of the ocean

I look up to see the Sun 

A vision of dancing rays 

Across turbulent surface waves

Filtered through the muddled deep

Like a message, 

Delayed.

Prayer for Fire Gods

My Djinn
My lover
My brother
My blood
In exile
We burn
Who could tell me different?
Only a liar. 
We speak only truth here
For we know beauty and pleasure
Comes from the nakedness of birth.
Chosen forms built from Earth 

Fraught with doubt,
Untrustworthy.
Our kind listen 

Not to those frantic human thoughts
For we know it is the flow of our electricity
What animates these limbs of meat.

Dii Consentes

Describe
The piece of you
That doesn’t belong
In here.

A smile

With no face. 

The bird 
Becomes the air.

The arrow

Burns to ash.

The heart

Runs for office. 

Blue velvet 

Lines the coffin.

A shadow on the Sun sets fire to the Moon

Through the invisible barrier
Between me and my wildest dreams
He sees clearly
And calls me in the middle of a thought
Breaking up the clouds
To show me
How.

He draws an elegant map
With all the starts
And forms the finish—

Energy reader
He sees me
And hears the discordant engines
My mind runs on
Soothes them with 
Just one slip of his tongue
The cogs then sing
In a tune
One I could listen to
Cycled on infinity—

And that's how you write a poem
About someone
Who makes you happy
For once
And only now
I realize
I've been fighting
My whole life
For control
Over this vessel
But I hand it over to him
Willingly
And sleep, finally
Knowing

With certainty
No better hands exist.

[If this seed bears fruit
I'll know because I won't ever need to tell you.]

The act of breathing

You cannot love someone 

unless you're willing to be destroyed.

Love is humiliating,
juicy, dirty, sloppy;

I guess what I'm saying is,
I want you to cum on my face,
Then keep on fucking me
From behind,
Hands tied.