Her libido superfood supplements weren’t working,
So she swam to the bottom of the ocean to make her leviathan throw up a second sun.
She was born with no music in her molars, so she plucked them from a new grin
And sang her lungs inside out underneath a second sun.
Empathy for the inanimate pried one eye from
Salt, and cured it underneath her second sun.
It’s dipped in sips of vinegar
Chewed and spit and eaten again, for digestible light, seasoned by her second sun.
Sitting back on her haunches in a womanly way,
She gets her color back from her second sun.
Her new skin snaps back, elastic and hot. Alchemized into wrought iron.
New shadows quench cooler when cast by the second sun.
She launches off of those womanly haunches—
Gravity’s daughter needs not dance a dance of proof for a second sun.
Creative bones photosynthesize into sterner stuff and break only under free will.
Wax wings are laughed out of the sky of her second sun.
Soothsayers speak their peace
And approve the time kept by the second sun.
Sex drive is no sixth sense she’ll need here.
She’ll take out her other eye instead, and plead with it to free the fifth.
