Scratch; I claw at the dirt and let it live under my nails.  I grab the stones and lay them all around me and around me they consume me.  Flora springs forth from rock cocks and lays firmly beside me.  I’m a slut for this floor; I let it abuse me with grainy texture and rough hands, and I see him there.  He thrusts one hand inside me, his fingerprints are in my blood. Scratch; no amount of rubbing will remove him from inside.

You’ve seen it; the clouds charge the sky.  They are dark and thick and low; black and grey.  Each mass churns into itself and off the rest.  I wait for it and it comes; a breeze around my body, squeezes my waist, fills me up.  I want that magic and by wanting I take and I let it inside of me – unprotected sex with the wind.  It fills me up.  I am intellect and knowing.  It’s then that the clouds excuse themselves and the sky, bright and blue, welcomes me.  I see him there, staring down, and I stare back.  He sees me as I am – the beauty of a flower’s petals fluttering lightly, the danger of a storm.  You’ve seen it; the magic in eyes the moment between the lightning and the thunder.

I come from California; there the Sun wraps the city in a blanket of heat – an idol in the sky.  Nobody would tell you because nobody knows, but the lord of Los Angeles is the Sun Himself.  Nobody worships the streets or Hollywood or The Coffee Bean or the 405.  People don’t go there for the celebrities, honest.  People don’t move there across the country for the beach itself.  Los Angeles is ruled by the Sun, and he blesses the people with burned flesh and warm faces and shade.  You cannot move to Los Angeles and expect to ever know this as I do, as I have been born in to it and am of Him.  The explosions and gas tumbling millions of miles away is implanted beneath my bones.  I keep it in my heart and when I kiss you, when I look at you, when I’m inside you, when you’re inside me, when we’re fucking, you are the recipient of love fueled by pure fire. I come from California; scratch my skin, feel the flame.

Imagine; I went to the ocean at night. Looked to the black water. Saw the broken reflection of the moon, streaks of cold bright whiteness shifting. Let the smallest of the waves race over my feet, and on contact didn’t feel temperature or wind or sand. Focused instead on the force of its fluidity. Felt instead my body inviting. Each swirl and leap, each wet embrace intoxicating; I have been poisoned. It’s not meant to kill, I can tell. I let it in, and he was there. The insisting waves moved fast around and across me and I saw him. I see him now, and my body is covered in moon kissed tide armor. My skin reflects all light and drowns all sound. I’m out to sea. I see him here. Imagine; come to the ocean at night and find us.

I stand before you awake.

I open my eyes, awake.

My eyes are open, awake.

Photo 2011 JM Darling

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