There is something
psychedelic
about lying under
the kaleidoscopic Punga fronds
watching them spiral in and out, above me
- and my back at some too-steep incline.
I've felt this posture
before, in suburbia -
induced by those cardboard triangles
(truly love at first sight,
the lust-cry kind of love)
with all the intensity of the forest's music
swirling around the tall tree tops...
and I, on my back.
Let me be clear
that when my hand traces its way
across my stomach, over my
hip bone
and settles beneath me, between
me -
that this is all for me, from me
through me and inside-out of me,
- not in want of some other.
I am my own lover,
just as I will love and
be loved
by another.
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