L.B.G.T. A Floating Poem

Now, What happens between U.S. Your body and mine. Some now hate U.S. more, Trump has not changed. Dog's hunting and killing gutting the rabbit's, happy without leash or chain. Homophobic, turning their unborn children into future serial killer's. Our convective tissue, severed and put into mason jars and kept as trophies. Floating above your body haunts mine, slinder finger's, attached to small hand's. Nature to U.S. is to sing and raise flag's. And shine like the moon and the north evening Star. To live and to dance, inside or out, your tongue takes me to places that I've never been. I have been waiting for our future's to meet, free from the tree's and dry burning bush. In this damp-wet cave and whatever happens, is this the path of the rose, I would pick.