Identity

Stare. Stare. Stare.
And perform what your love is made up of
Of gray eyes and a mess inside,
like a multitude of galactic whirls,
where we stand still,
in salt water and stardust floating,
on the surface in a parallel universe
amidst the storms in the oceans.

Stare into that mirror.
Travel. Fall. Hurt.
Explore all that hides
in the folds his skin.
Brush against his neck,
his chest, his ribs.
Because woman,
beauty is not just feminine,
and not just your body craves,
not just you are a beautiful craving.

Push. Stare. Fix.
Choke a little, maybe.
If that is needed
to be the master
in the game for tonight.
For you are in power, queen,
let your each part command
like the gods from the skies
raging a war against the
humans with the liberty to sin,
and serve like the slaves,
paradoxically owned,
out of love,
for a kingdom like that
is not so easily traded.

Oh you woman, destroy.
Stare into every crest in the flesh,
let your thumb trace
his lips and move yours
flushing, digging, sucking out
every taboo
about men making love to women,
out of every part of his,
out of all,
staring into the eyes of men,
performing what your love is made up of,
performing what it looks like,
performing your love.

Caption Courtesy : withering.tulips - https://www.instagram.com/withering.tulips/

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