Moon river, swollen river, river of starhole
and bright, harness river, lichen river,
river we velvet with our filth.
River of butter and river of witches, river
cracked open careful like egg, or burst
apart, unleashing its violet load.
River mouths, river beds, every back
forty creek, every crick, made of
trickles, made of synth, river of sound
as vibration, river where we all get free.
River that curve down a backbone,
river through which I particle heat,
feathery and wet, lemony and loud,
river that still smell skin, browned
around a neck, softened with sweat,
river you wear tight on your hips,
given in private, or out in the open.
River I dream about.
River from the inside.
River where we shouts the feeling.
Septum river, bundle river, river of mercy,
sometimes edging so far into night
the moon goes (…) dark.
Yes, all night river, burnt sugar river.
We pull the river into our bellies, we
go out walking. We river in darkness
as entire paw prints of color and light.
Everything rivers in motion. River
of holy, river of freaks, river where
my fur belong to me. Softer than
it seem river. Honey and Vaseline river.
Brown river, black river, off the map river.
I will be there, printing textures of rock
on the skin of me, belly down, face down,
my god, it is good to be home.