Sweat and Magic

 

There is sweat and magic in her creases

a fragrant treasure

a fervent secret

there is a flashing

world of neurocracy

there is red

and there is black

there is in fact

a luminous universe

I smile quietly

at this silken craven thought.

 

Nightingale Rapture

 

 

She of female colour

works a cherry path

tripping rainbow wind and flaunting a song,

the nightingale rapture…

A bountiful traveller, her bowl swimming,

a vagrant obstreperous kite.

This leonine hue, this invigorated sunrise, she is yolk.

Woman spills from her delicate fingers,

impolite yet forgiven as it falls.

She of 1000 clouds and velvet womb,

a mountain of compulsion.

SHE

a bolt                  of flesh                    silk