Suggestive Sea of Flame
Dear Sir: please feel free to devour me
like you would a cupcake, or a kebab
with many trimmings. My nation is trapped
in its womb of conflict:
the sun is blackened by the souls of
our slain young men. Do you like my pictures?
I am naked just for you, prospective husband
six hundred and eleven. The moon is abundant
in its punishment. All tides have stopped,
that is, except the tide of my sex [winking emoticon]
which will drown our genitals before dawn.
My feet are exquisite: I very much need you
to nuzzle them with your handsome features
or baptise them in a bowl filled
with multi-coloured confections, like skittles
or M&Ms. My hometown is a maze.
We have a fortune teller who smells like the rain.
He cupped my naked breasts when I
was fourteen, and told me that my father
was his lover. Eat the sweets from in between my toes.
Be fluid. Later I will eat you. Do not pause.
Keep eating. It does not matter that I weep.
You will find my torso to your pleasure.
I am the source of all seafarers’ most vigorous
erections since One Thousand and One Nights
and my scales are electronic: please open the link. I wish
for you to see the currents of electricity
disarrange and multiply my erotic centre: not the ‘gem’
that you seek, hooded, hidden beneath the labia, but every
single scale: I cannot swim in a straight line because of them.
Strum me like a guitar: my ecstatic spasms have killed men
larger than you. I have smashed through ceilings
and broken every brittle bone in my body.