I have felt between my fingers
the twinkle of a fleshy star,
felt atomic sear that lingers
in wrinkles folded as dreams are.

Yet I have never know a man
brave enough to love the wild night,
who would suck the supernovas
tracing star paths with his tongue
to lick the crescent hood of moon.

These stars were made to map my passion
and I followed their drift and pull,
using these constellations to navigate desire.

But it's only caused me to become
more lost inside the space
of my sin-black skin.


**The Spin Cycle**