cat caller

God, I cannot wait for the rain

I’m dull bored swarming in a layer of sweat 

Mine mine theirs

Skin on skin tacked down

To fabric or pub tables or eyeliner 

The soles of my feet burn 

The trees and the ants burn

The tip of my nose and my shoulders and the front of my head behind my eyes burn 

At the bottom of a pint glass, the stalking wasp: everything is sticky

Still 

Patient in wait for a relief that never satiates 

only burns

Earth is starting to smell like toast

Dry and stale and split by the hands that take and burn and take 

Let me Emancipate

stretch marks tumbling

into tectonic plates

Rivers of Rupture

Crack the pint glass crack the wasp’s wings crack a smile for him meanwhile

Swallow Shakespeare road whole, devour he who seeks my skin into my skin

My divine feminine

Pity the man whose desire is the sum of him

Let his burning turn me into a Morningstar

Let me rain