She glitters. Out on the horizon. Set off by the sun sinking softly. Clouds spitting, a spray of tangelo, ruby-red, and crimson – all thick and fat and fighting; excited and busted, gushing, broken-open, lusting. Biting one another. All over that fuck-off smash of a sky. Ship of death, ship of doom, leaking shit. A lanolin smear. A urine cloud. Hanging hot. Hanging heavy. Smudge of stillness. In the port.
iii: You were so cold, he said, that day I saw you. I lay on a mattress on the floor, and watched him dance like a miracle. Taut black back, tattooed and twisting. Hips swiveling.
iv: Speeding through a morning’s dark, sharing sugary coffee. Toward the water we were always hurtling. Hurling ourselves. For waves. For fish. For life. For the stars. To the stars we span.
v. Surprise visits and soft-lipped kisses from another lautan asmara. Milky chance I stole her dance. Just a boy to go bump in the night with.
Caught up in your net, Mr. My hands on your hips as I scale you. My lips on your neck, and my thumbs in your gills as I kiss you. That day we ate the sunset light, and later one another. The ocean glowing silver. A hook through both our hearts. You reeled me in, all tangled up. Still got it for ya, Mr.
all those women whose writing comes alive when they’re in love, and fucking, again.
Slowly slipping down my WhatsApp chat-list, you are.
A very tall and unexpected complication with a very French accent