T H Ό R U B O S

In lieu of a candied white van lure he knocked on my door with a basket of fruit so I invited him in and offered to be his seat before asking for a lighter to match the orange juice dripping from my syrupy grand marnier lips.

Guiding his hands to my face the flames landed in a freestyle dance heating the floor of my tongue where waxing his fingers I guided him to the roof of my mouth and pushing buttons he slowly descended the rooms of my pulsating elevator stopping first at the vibrating nook that shook with fortune-telling moans to deliver a tsunami of glimmer to the surface of his eyes.

My body desired to play in his ocean so began swimming against his currents first upstream then down, moving beneath the waves while holding his shoulders and crashing against his rocks as he devoured my honey and guided me deeper into his catacombs until arriving at my first floor to sugarcoat our skin with imprints inscribed beneath the historical light of our seas as untethered to the fragrance of self-immolation we rose like embers from lacework bonfires before swelling into unharvested refrains, hymnals of blossoming passion refracting elements of our smoking hearts long afire in a sea of dancing flames.


He was the sweetness in my brushes and I the color in his strokes
Together producing love greater than the sound of art