The Garden Salon

Response to the prompt: If the government and money did not exist, how would you have sex?

I would lay under an oak tree. Naked, away from the roots protruding from the soil, still held in the shade. Dappled light spotting my brown body. Sprinkled by big black ants that drop from the trees. I think they jump from the limbs to feel my skin. I inhale the healing air (as in the air is healing now.)

Land back means there are spaces just for us. No membership fees. Sacred cuz it is. Creation comes out of us onto the roots of that oak tree. Reciprocation and being are the law.

My purpose could be in my own smile. And somewhere in the buds of your tongue. Interdependence means I don’t have to prove I’m individual. No fear, no fear, no fear for nothing anymore.

I eat you for breakfast and my late-night snack. When we play in the dark, I see everything in the moonlight. I look down my body and see the light of your eyes. Planting roots in each other like life depends on it. Because life depends on it and nothing is dire.

I am louder now. The way I make the air shake in pleasure is revered as praise.

Because money is gone, I am the king I am. Without dominion, more honor. I make songs about your bodies. I get tested often. I play in more places.

I have more time to be silent with another. Intimacy without the pressure of being entertaining is a communal value. The thievery of my intimate energy no longer exists. I am free of needing to recover, needing to be interesting. Our breathing together can mean so much.

I suck the venom of empire out of my loves, with an addendum to this remediation, I pray in the new reality into these wounds – you are free. Reminding her, I see the cosmos in you. Love can come slowly even if it feels loud. I welcome more women who are less afraid.

I teach them the foreplay I like. I swim with women who love to swim. I swim towards them.

Every day I give up perfect – I write exactly what I mean. I decompress into your face. I only let women who tell me explicitly what they want on purpose, touch me. I go on trips to have sex twice a month, at least.

I honor my goals and celebrate successes with feeling up and passionate kissing. Desire lingers. I have nervous system regulating orgasms because we were in a berry patch this time and fed each other snacks immediately after we came.

I always have a fresh haircut. Her hand on the back of my head would be our light switched on. Open for business would be a joke now, cuz we bartered for this new toy and I like it a lot.

I masturbate on every rainy day when I want to, some things won’t change. I find you in the storms. I road trip, and leave poems about your thighs on the ruins of toll booths, a memento for the next wayward soul.

I feed you every meal from the outdoor kitchen and kiss you all the way down under banana trees in the summer. The rising temperatures are at bay in the shade of their leaves. I find a copper tub and fall asleep with you in Epsom salt and marigold flower baths on the dark moons.

I read comic books with my head resting on your ass. I am gentle except for when you tell me not to be.

I am free to dream up our next meal after we come up for air. I plan a dinner party to show us off. I share my loving.