reprosexuality

There is a secret door

my love hides
just behind the wet bar

beneath glistening glass bottles

of amaretto and rye
if you open it, you’ll find

a library with no walls

only windows

into shining black eyes 

of enormous yet graceful beasts

eons old, gliding through a deep blue sea.

when I speak to them in the silence,

they come to visit me

singing songs of how sad they are 

to be all-knowing

and so hungry for company.