the conjuring of a fucking
nestled, we find a way to fuck in the grass without the world knowing. tree root bottoms have the biggest blades, we scoot. i am not shy to show my backside plumpness, use my hips as a guide, watch how they glide gentle waves over an overgrown patch of garden. you are forest-hungry, you are already diving in, you sneaky little worm.
we steady the mound, we wriggle gelatinous, we hover just above our own bodies. i want to cry orb but fear your face. i cry your name instead, you sealing up my bits with your pith, fruit pits in no particular order, slimy and read for the swallow.
nestled, we burrow heads, tuck down and into, roundabout spiral, helix sun against a populous sky –cumulous. i remember every bit of grass stuck to my thigh, every drop of you slick and sliding down, tricky sticky dicky. if we had been any heavier or fucked longer we would made a crater. instead, we immerge like nymphs, like human-sized faeries stepping on first-time feet.
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