orange sex

on St. Anns  

the room smells like new orleans
greasy, pungent
she let you explore the scarred landscape of her body
before she kicked you away with a grin
and reclined,
licking her lips
legs slowly parted by the head of a giant grasshopper.
from the corner you watch her writhe
underneath spiked legs
papery wings
faceted eyes.
it's the way things sound:
mandibles and breath,
the spaces in between forms
where two bodies should have fit together.
these are the things that make your hands shake
the things you came here to see in the first place.
she is moaning
there is rain in everything
and you can't find the door.