What began with long, hard hits on the vape

                                        teasing our tongues with sweet Sativa

unchained our libidos in the blood’s dark cells.

We could either wear a crown or be forced

                                      to surrender, depending on the trinity’s

mercy in the moment.

Requesting our hands move slow,

                                         fingers became seismograph needles

measuring tremors of flesh.

With hers below the furry equator and mine

                                                           molding his face like clay,

streaming tears could only be joy lubricating the future.

After dressing, we moved to the dining room

                                                      so hunger could be discussed.

Three meals later, the moon found us bent like forks and knives.