first love, then water
it goes as easy as it
comes-
or so I say to this diminutive dyke
friend of mine who insists on
trying to
explain to me the heft of
a woman’s love-
she likes her woman bold and brassy,
with more Scoville units than
scotch bonnets diced
and fried over foie gras-
how to explain to her that
I prefer shy, the
blinking eyes of a girl
with her head bowed
meditatively and her
chin burrowed deeply into her
neck that
sometimes I am afraid
she will collapse in on herself in
ecstatic self-annihilation-like feral
origami at the center of the galaxy
-peter taverna