you’re not as small as your circles, your cycles

you’re so big you’re so wide you’re so impossible

you’re the mess you’re the rot you’re the first sigh

stop tearing at the bloom inside you

before they even get the chance to see

you’re robbing them of your deliciousness

when you exist to be tasted and to taste

delight is free— it is the first pulse you felt on your skin

desire is the mechanism of your breathing

every inch of you electric, you’re touching everything