All is right when your crinoline circles the universe in cerulean and songbird yellow, dark eyes chiaroscuro, patented L-O-V-E. You are all that we believe no matter how long and how arduous the journey. Licks and slaps and big do(s), look-a-likes, you strong, strapping males, more tattoo than tan, tattoo over tan over ass, over the last one. Never really over, not really. Sweet boy of 12 with that big groove-on looking like his big dyke mother. uck me! It ain’t the music or the occasion or the grief. Ain’t the Prop Million March or the visit to the cemetery in the face of a man I once loved like a soul brother. Deliver me this day from my journey that is elation, emancipation, liberation, creation in every cell of my body at once thrilled. Mind you I am, but I am not mindless. Your beauty overwhelms.
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