I’m married to the king of the world, pregnant with his nation/ a queen, they say *wow*
It’s the seventh hour before noon, a second witching hour. I don’t even realize he’s awake, my back is against him my limbs threaded; I’m meditating, hoping to hear the second pair of lungs tremble inside of me. He kneels beside me, his hands snake around my middle - then a moment to ask permission - I exhale, he knows the escape of matter means peace. Never has my body fit so well in any space. No where else would my legs leave me. You’re inside of me and I’ve given up on dying for just that reason, you slow down *when you’ve got the time to take your time, steal it quick* and then it’s faster, faster there’s only a faucet between us, love
Every second takes us closer to the divine and further from this skin so lets build a tent in it, set it on fire.
