Contributor: Mirigold Manovera

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Even here, I can smell her sweet perfume-- gingerbread and rain.
Her wings are my wings, her jazz is my jazz.
I taste the soft skin at neck, lips, eyes, forehead, belly, breasts.
I am the beast she worships, the beast who worships her.
There is enough for everyone and want is the furthest thing from my mind.
I have come through the fog.
I am here, alive and rich in every way.
I feel rich.
I feel savory, full, thick with dirt fertile and ready to grow
roses.
I am empowered with a red light that embers hot and indomitable within my chest.
I am amidst more sweat and luxury than ever as I lose myself in her smell, her skin, her breasts,
this being.


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I can feel it, so close.