Content warning: allusions to misogyny and sex

I am laced with desire,                     reaching

                for your burnished violet haze

but my flame gutters

at every glaring prohibition.              

I gaze             at existence          through a prism

but am never the glimmer

grazing it.                  I want to caress

iridescence and swirl

    through your oil slick, but I must rehearse

every open devotion, each glisten        fastened

behind the curtain, and staunch

each tear               lest it leaves a shimmer

trailing     down     my cheek,          

                   masking those hypnotic sequins.

                   I thirst for moonshine

elation, distilled in the dusk

            of the psychedelic underground.

I seek shelter           

                    in the speakeasy sanctuary

of your embrace and long

  for delirium                                  to dissolve

in the amphitheatre of my mouth.

I ought to revel                     in your luminescence

                           while I’m lucid

but their disdain has me wallowing in your          oblivion.

When lustre dripped

                        from my fingers

                        they blanched like it was blood.

In my radiance

                            they deemed I was irradiated

and fled from all our love.

Like glitter      they fear us touching anything,

worried our rough irregularities will cling.

So, do I shroud                                            the spectrum

with a synthesised

                                 smile or illuminate

my opalescence and wait to be reviled?

We are stardust,        contraband              made of wanting

so, they line us up and snort us

                    off the stage                                           affronted

                            just to get a buzz.

Tell me why our lust is illicit

                                           but they watch it anyway.