Color-lights, in mystique, are washing over this room when
Her touch rushes intoxication up my limbs.
Saintly girls, messed up sequin skirts,
Sprawled like starfish over the hardwood floor.
But we are finger painting infants and
The potion on our hands is a child of the Lust Moon
That June casts down.
Swiping it over the skin of our backs and the curve of our bare shoulders,
Desire is blooming on the walls as it explores our skin.
I love the speed of our kiss, how it lifts us off the earth.
I love my muscles bloated with your tongue,
I love the flicker-light that our stomachs spark touched together,
Growing fierce like a smothered match.
I love the drug driven through me when you shock my skin with your fingertips,
They are momentary phantoms of this June’s Love Moon sky,
Dancing in the navy-blue dark.