Orangasm (2017)
Blushing cheeks and auburn hair tangled,
knotted in the other’s street-worn fingers,
Dipping between the fuzz at nape’s neck and a hesitant zipper

The brief calfskin skirt, waxen, contests the fingers,
Passively, meekly like grape leaves do morning condensation;            
But steel-tip nails, oversweet kisses don’t know how to roll off,
And they coax to find
an ass bruised and soft like a day-old plum

And in between two half-mooned slices,  
Found is nothing like a Valentine, neither pink nor pale
But an overripe melon,
Fanned rim wilting, sagging,
dribbling trails of marmalade pus

Sticky fingers and sugar-crusted lips,
he gorges himself on her and sighs
little cloying clouds of cotton candy, whimpered and misty

Skirt, legs, skin torn apart at the navel and ribboned around her
Her, panting in a warm mere of her own saccharine blood