My body is your paper
The sky is my lover
It writes on me at night
And we write together
All night in glow in the dark ink. This is a love song
I’m your parchment
You be the feather that you choose
To write upon me
I’m here in waiting for your words
To be marked on my skin….
Im here in waiting for your words
I’m not a whore or an aristocrat
I’m just a lover of God
I’m not even a democrat or republican
I’m just a lover of your poetry in motion love you always know just what to say just when we lost our compasses and then we lost our senses using death as entertainment and commodifying everyintng again until we could not sing until we forgot we are just Your papers in the wind and chapbook to write upon, ink blown and dried by Your own breath

congealing ages of Loves songs.