Prologue to Famished Ranting

Your hands are wild and they wander without shame to marvel the miraculous thing that has earned fast fame. The feeling tames beasts from the thrush and cures sickness of the head. They give the moon a reason to gaze down upon peasants and kings. The stars gossip with the sun about those eyes. The sky holds no water over those stormy globes, with white skies and sullen fog glazing over what it knows to see. Your face is a frame for sin and where all my wicked dreams remain. Come from the dark and rob me blind with your tainted lips and otherworldly mind. I am a victim to you and that’s just fine.

Your voice makes me curious about church choirs and the saints. All the bleach in your smile hides so many different stains with stories behind the lips. You are a phenomenon like winter hurricanes and the falling of too many stars. You make me drunk and too open to the touch. Breathe into me and make me memorize the taste of Heaven and the rush it promises to give. Your body is a map to several lands of paradise and all those curvatures show me where the Gods drink and dine. We’ll do the serpent’s dance and fancy words that are old and worth every breath we plan ahead. Sink your teeth into my bitter rind and suck me dry like blood red wine. I am a victim to you, and that’s just fine.

J.S.