saturn and its fires, he's a monstrosity painted
in blood orange and blue yellows - its rings
carve pain into my shoulders - but i grab him
and whisper lullabies of pleads, of never-
let-me-goes, of hold-mes, of french slurs,
until he listens.
saturn, sweetheart, seek - soliloquies of sorrow
and sibilances of femininity open velveteen
curtains for him: he's just a shell of humanity
so pretty when he arches his back, yet so
frightening when he stands straight,
looming over you -
he's torturous to your eyes, isn't he?
don't you find him so fucking gorgeous
until he touches you at your command,
until he picks your pace because
you want him to -
his fingers portray me his vulnerability
so softly into my skin - tell me, sweetheart,
do you want me to seek, he asks - and i
whisper yes, because dear saturn boy,
your golden curls and your bittersweet
skin dripping of honey, leave me arching
for more - and i want to listen
to every sound you make, every onomatopoeia
of joy, of agonising screeches, of despondency
and of your late night thoughts.
so let me listen.
