We have a living room type of loving,
a green sofa with big open arms
hugging our bodies closer,
two floating spheres of feelings levitating above our lips,
with every kiss,
sinking further into the warmth of our mouths,
mutating themselves to pink raspberries,
I am taking small bites from that future,
tasting it with an animalistic sense of inevitability,
and the sweetness
molding into a new form,
melting like soft soy candle wax,
underneath the blues
and the jazzy artificial lights.
My Sunday type of love, slow and sexy,
without words you are saying
“Baby I get it”.
poetry by Joana Figueiredo
photo by Adam Strong
Joana Figueiredo (she/her) is an experimental surrealist poet and writer, fascinated with everything, especially if that something is flowers, coffee, literature or the dark arts. She is currently channeling Circe and Hekate, and feeding treats to her black dog.
Backwards Trajectory 