they flail their languid, indigo limbs
and press close their red, brown, black faces,
locking indigo lips and swaying indigo hips
under dual moons and butterscotch clouds.
engaged in a voodou ritual, their sanguine hands
violently meet and their bodies, darker than blue, convulse,
driven by a belligerent song and rhythm.
as though ancient africa was coursing through their ichor,
the dual-faced mothers dance and move,
sunlight dripping from their tawny afros,
smearing the chalky face paint and marring the red soil.
the regal titanesses, ululating and celebrating the void of space,
admire distant stars and that blue pendant,
their feral children, pregnant with celestial wonder
and juvenile vigour, make love in errant labyrinths and vacant niles.
an indigo father nurses his seventh child on his
fourth nipple. the maternal father coos
the gentle offspring into a martian slumber,
sleep overpowering the four eyes and gaian howls.