Love Song in the Gloam with a Tyrannosaurus Rex
She be a moon bottle, drenched in the thunderglow.
I be a storm with the eyes of a snake, with the aim
of the lousy indigenous headdress of Afrika Bambaataa,
of a Tyrannosaurus Rex with cracked disco balls for shades
& a grill like Paul Wall minus a knuckles-worth of teeth
— everything I say is chopped & screwed, saliva gluey
as maguey on my cacti tongue. Shoulders melt
from her neck like candlewax onto my wrists, singe
a lullaby of grief like a red vein down my arm.
Her hips hammer heartbeats through glass bells.
She be a moon bottle drenched in thunderlight,
glowing on the porch like a wolf eye in gloam.
The hot glare of her mouth is a synonym
for summer. I be a storm with a black nose
digging its snout through wet grass. I fill goblets
with her brewery. She be the moon in a bottle
I shatter against a stairwell to crush moonrock
barefoot beneath me, to lick glass from concrete
until my blood fractures in light. She socks
the sockets of my septum with flashes of heat,
my skull clenched between the diamond-studded
summermouth of an almighty Tyrannosaurus Rex.about the author