Comforted by the voices of strangers
who I adore.
They bleed through the earphones,
Exhibiting all the closet chambers in my mind,
Seducing me to honesty.
Summer night – the apartment is cramped
crickets roar against heat
Nancy Sinatra’s hums hush me.
NyQuil to my dysphoria, insomnia.
The boots are made for sleeping
Thank you, for bringing me hope on
Lizzy Grant, thank you too
For all the orgasms you erupt inside of my
Your lips smack my ear drums
Your infinity fingers touch my neck, pull my hair, caress my spine,
Until I close my eyes, breaking down the walls
Taking me to the strawberry fields
Of my colorful consciences
With you, I’m aware,
With you, I’m alive.
Jim Morrison, lighting the carnal and spiritual fires in all my organs
Your reptile skin, sharp and hostile
Slithering on my pale torso,
People are strange, but you aren’t people
You are a door.
I sing the words you write, naked in the shower
Holding my hips, you slow dance with me
Into the lizard palace
And all the parts of my body become yours.
Under your spiritual domain.
I wash your hair with my mortal hands.
The voices of strangers-
Take me into a new tropic,
Where my dreams and the realities of my consciousness become