Kingdom Come
Still, I hunger for you: those nights we’d get so high we turned into earthworms, how we would writhe, reverent, our entire bodies capable of taste, each pore a mouth, our limbs looping, fingers like meat, toes like tongues, savoring, devouring sweat and sloughed cells—the elation—goddamn, I miss that; and I know we shouldn’t, we’re mercury on the skin, yet I long to burrow with you again, the chalk of calcium upon us, the grind of minerals, our decayed lives, fleshy loam, a kingdom of dirt where we could ride each other, forever, where we could be divine.
Photo Credit: Dan Brekke
Born of dirt and returned to earth