by Solomon Foster
Our planet has four pink moons.
Sit on benches, watch them play.
It’s June. You pierce small blue violets
Between my thighs, all in line, they
Pulse indigo in the evening time.
Our small planet has acred rings,
You dance with me across them while
The stardust sings. I love you like the Irish
Do, between silent sips of cider brew.
Yet our existence is still confined to this
Kitchen sink sadness and debonair quips.
I promise you that I will stay with you,
On our small planet with four pink moons.
Solomon Foster is a poet. Their work has also appeared in The Dead Mule of Southern Literature (2020) for the poem The End of this Week is Sunday.