I tattoo my man’s name on the stiff breeze, and let it tousle the chimes I call my hair. The radical politics of spanx. The gross speeches of spectacular leeches. My man once brought me chocolate along the sylph like river, and my eyes glowed like a cloudless blue sky when he fed them to me gently, enticing me to remove my shackles of shame. His name is on the wind and travels parallel to the sea, daring storms to look at me. Sapphire encrusted coasts look jealously at the warm lines of my publicized body.
Miniature Moon 