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When I’ve had one too many margaritas and
the tequila is sharp on my tongue
I start longing for molasses’ treacly touch
and for you to stroke bourbon inside my cheeks instead.

Let me take you by the hand
Voodoo sparking fire in your eyes
Marie Laveau and Spanish moss
All perfect clichés, carousels of themselves
Gloried, moulded horses cherry-red and emerald green for your pleasure.
Spin til you’re sick with it.

The hot, wet hound of humidity breathes on the back of our necks
The beignets are the only way to keep the wolf from the soft flesh
of the inside of your thighs.
Supplant the gods with your offerings of King’s cake and sugar,
eat til the urge to fuck is sated.


The streets of New Orleans have hands, clever fingers that crook to you
Every dark-eyed stranger a different deal, a different promise
Night walks here between the string lights and quartets
New Orleans his Queen.

We are the revellers in the swamp,
tug boat glory in beaded necklaces and sticky-sweet sin
Here every day is Mardi Gras,
an exorcism of excess,
a revel in the sweat as it collects.
Here we know change, we know tides:
our bodies are never rhythm-less
We rock eternal to the brass.
Lent has no power here.
Writing for the sake of writing.
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Submitted on
December 15, 2014
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