mon objet

I do not want to rinse you off me. I do not want to go. This war in me speaks loudest at night—as if all at once, 
the yin tide, pink, lush, and like a lather—your love salve—I take in with the largest mouthfuls from the most
beautiful silver spoon…As it turns out, once my organs are satiated from the swell brought of the raw honey well,
everything shifts into perspective                  where white wine has clotted to a bubble at the bottom of glasses 
where sunlight turns half your body to gold, begging to be licked

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