It’s that fuzzy moment, floating above
the floor. Just moments before we were on
the floor. Your glow with shag-tagged grace. “O love
this!” Your last words before melting. Crayon
wax. KY jelly. Puddles on the sheets.
These are the sounds girl-like boys and boy-like
girls make when fused, blended fine. What repeats
inside you pounds like a piston, a spike,
curved hard bone. It anchors you to me, yet
when you say –– “Fuck the shit out of me. Up
my ass. Your balls smacking my cunt.” –– You drift
away. That fuzzy moment, wafting wet
on high. Not lost. We cum while in worship,
then return with sacred love, grace’s gift.