I await the day I straddle the solar system

in Doc Martens and men’s Levi’s— 

Left pinky toe tucks a stray hair behind Pluto’s ear,

kisses her forehead, 

says “I love you” 

with aloe vera socks, scuffed soles; 

other foot squishes Sun’s face, 

 makes him lick its boots, 

 spits in his eye, 

 feels him up on asphalt like a fucked

  cigarette. 

Atoms flee Sun like sparks— 

diffuse into Eves 

guiding sailors home with sultry siren songs:

destined, they are, to hang off the 

 edge, 

be driven mad upon the rocks 

by girls and theys in crop tops and men’s Levi’s,

beautiful to taunt, too smart to fall. 

The men hear “love” in gurgled water breath.

The sirens flick their eyes to me; 

Venus holds me aloft. 

Hawaiian shirt flaps in a zero-g breeze, 

eyes slice softly at Saturn’s rings 

where Sappho softly naps, 

bloodied, waterlogged screams her lullaby.

I watch from my heavenly body 

as those fated fall prey over and over again.