Where are you?
I’m sitting on the moon
Please cut me some slice of the sky,
I’m so tired, I can’t come up this hour.
The sky is cold;
you need a hot meal.
Oh, please make me one.
You need to turn on the stove for me to cook.
But I’m so tired.
You don’t seem hungry. Do you?
Okay. How do I do that?
Start from the lobes of my ear to the
lines of my lips to the
freshness of my tongue.
Take hold of my breast and own it.
Navigate through all the buttons that lay mild like an island.
Let your warmth press hard against my sprouting urge.
Then find your way to the mainland;
the two-lipped pinky burner should be heated by then.
And I will lay you down in a split second and
serve you the whole steamed sky better than a cold slice.
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