Allegiance To The Line Juicer

He is wired for
sour fruit dessert, weaving black and blue
cables  through his heart.

A stripper and his peach syndrome
parted, in him, desire from fear.
He lost.

Yet,
he can swallow rose petals better
than any absorbent
and
he steps more lucent than any
cloud walker…

I have pledged allegiance to his hands,
his hair,
his stubble shadow.
I demand his tongue
his touch,
his exchange;

where his voice spreads thick,
taste enhances,
where his deluxe firewater is served,
servants dance,
where his skin sheds to brace life,
I kneel.

If God cannot dampen my dry, callous skin,
maybe this sad Electrician can.

 

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