On Rag
(18+)
O darling, the moon did not disrobe you. You fell asleep that way, nude and capsized by our wine, our Bump ‘n’ Grind shenanigans. Blame it on whatever you like; my bed welcomes whomever you decide to be: thug- mistress, poinsettia, John Doe in the alcove of my dreams. You can quote verbatim an entire album of Bone Thugs-n-Harmony with your ass in the air. There’s nothing wrong with that. They mince syllables as you call me yours. You don’t like me but still invite me to your home when your homies aren’t near enough to hear us crash into each other like hours. Some men have killed their lovers because they loved them so much in secret that the secret kept coming out: wife gouging her husband with suspicion, churches sneering when an usher enters. Never mind that. The sickle moon turns the sky into a man’s mouth slapped sideways to keep him from spilling what no one would understand: you call me God when it gets good though I do not exist to you outside this room. Be yourself or no one else here. Your do-rag is camouflage-patterned and stuffed into my mouth.
O darling, the moon did not disrobe you. You fell asleep that way, nude and capsized by our wine, our Bump ‘n’ Grind shenanigans. Blame it on whatever you like; my bed welcomes whomever you decide to be: thug- mistress, poinsettia, John Doe in the alcove of my dreams. You can quote verbatim an entire album of Bone Thugs-n-Harmony with your ass in the air. There’s nothing wrong with that. They mince syllables as you call me yours. You don’t like me but still invite me to your home when your homies aren’t near enough to hear us crash into each other like hours. Some men have killed their lovers because they loved them so much in secret that the secret kept coming out: wife gouging her husband with suspicion, churches sneering when an usher enters. Never mind that. The sickle moon turns the sky into a man’s mouth slapped sideways to keep him from spilling what no one would understand: you call me God when it gets good though I do not exist to you outside this room. Be yourself or no one else here. Your do-rag is camouflage-patterned and stuffed into my mouth.
15.10.2019
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