You should go-
I should work.
Because my lids are like the sun and the horizon on a windy afternoon;
Aching to meet…
All I think about,
Are how your chocolate fingers slip through the mess on my head.
My own queer appendages wrap around your throat;
Around the belly of the sky…
In crimson dreams,
How your little baby breasts look
My mind opens up to the body,
Like a sunflower…
What am I,
If I don’t see
The depth that separates the border of your breasts
From the boundary of your tummy
With the tip of my fingers?
I trespass the no man’s land
Navigating what can only be a world
I was not supposed to see…
And through closed eyelids,
I see stars on a night sky,
And the moon,
Floating like a flag on a pirate ship…
My body is a slave to the endocrine,
As logic and all of her secretaries take a holiday,
And I walk home through ordeals,
Like Odysseus after the Trojan War!
But I am already home.