Heavenly Bodies In Rest And Motion by Romero

Heavenly Bodies, In Rest and Motion

Romero de Luna

The crescent moon haze shades a torrid breeze which blisters a blanket’s skin, running fingers, the tips of my fingers over the satin curve of—well I like to compare a woman’s curves to a landscape of hills and valleys, because of Sappho, and I blame Neruda- that every unmarked trail I travel is both virginal and vaginal- the salted sea breeze- the curtained veil of fog and darkness- Jesus, I need to get laid, to plow an acre or two- for a smile on a woman’s lips, the feathered twirl of a swallow on a ribboned path like that tattooed libido on the back of her thigh, twining vines from her calf and reaching up- interweaved in their flight toward Hosanna; tattooed vines, a scar from a lover’s caress, organic orgasmic and over pedantic I am groaning too cleverly for my craving tongue: the roses redder than a fang banger’s breast, my balls still bluer than violets and though the flora wants all the attention, I offer body and soul to your hands, while I still have time.