Dragonfruit

Your flesh is coconut
vanilla in a pink cunt husk.

[wet moonfruit]
Open me up.

I have to write about
a dragonfruit boy
his scales green-tipped

who's picking off the petals
of white flowers like thunder
covering the damp earth.

His toes are testaments
every one a tablet of commandment
he will cut the name of tree
down
and give it to his love.

A peartree prophet crouched
beneath the raining moonflower
and asked
if I felt safe behind your eyelids.

He told me words
were just a way of crushing feel;
your syntax like anvils on a sea
of breathing kittens,

stirring restless asleep
and hungry for love.

He told me what you taste like.
He told me all your sticky dreams.

I want to burst the pits
of your black bit seeds,
crushing anger thoughts
not quite sesame,

a full stop in your flesh.

[africa night]
Peel away at me.

There is an antelope girl
running through my veins
and the slope of my spine

all the steps of my discs
selfishly grind
as she climbs surefooted
into the gulf of my mind.

She peels me like brackets
segmented orange skin.
My savannah rustles.

I think she's a sin.

Mornings we make spoons
double comma peardrop juice
shallow curves in the song of her
swelling form;

we make ourselves up as we go along.