Amethyst is thicc, phat like mulberries,

wet like mauve. Neighbor flavor; what I’ve missed

with these new memories. Bend of strange knees,

dimples, fat fists, lips you say that I’ve kissed.

Rewired. I forget names, tastes, even hues.

Had I been this age then, instead of nine,

then ‘wine dark’ would still be a reddish-blue.

Your plum to my peach. Your curls to my twine.

You said L.S.D. would set us all free.

You said, “tuck here, toy,” then cried for Jesus.

Love gone messy? So it seems. Like sweet ilk

and sweat. Lotus and loam. Cum foam and glee.

Said I filled your throat? Tickled your glottis

going down? Thicc like brine and buttermilk.