Late Night Orbit

My hands are tracing your 

constellations from behind your 

ears all the way down to your 

French toes.

Need I say stuck in a limbo?,

your pelvis rising an inch higher 

the lower I proceed to go.

I’m loving every bit of the

monotone, but the lows, Mm,

they grab my attention in a way 

I just can’t reach.

The high notes are what get to 

me, luring me into your chi like a 

siren.

Submit to me while I clasp your

wrists, but insist that I take things 

slow, as to weave every bit of me

into your celestial soul.

I’ll be the man from Mars, your 

dreamy extraterrestrial.

Let’s go to Luna and bask in the

light, then trigger an eclipse.

Let me take you to a place out of

our orbits where only we two exist.

I want to make love far-off to 

your fine print, boldness, italics, 

foreign words, all of your poetic 

gists.

That is a lot to concur to, but I

will gladly take on all of it.

—JG  2026