by a yellow thrust shot through with white expostulations,
just across from pendulant nightmare pods
beside a slimy shiny scary hungry thing,
as I look down into the honey trap,
my reflection looks up at lunch
pure sex, no shame.
Delighting dappled things
and purple
over the aisle from red velvet
more thrusters, down and all around sideward
white petals with flower tips bringing on
nightmare again, tumescent reds
converging yellow fronds.
It’s time to find the shuttle bus
to parking area C3
unless we stay to find out what happens here in the dark
under an eclipsing moon.