Orange Man Poem by Zyw Zywa

I know it by the lovely days
of firm, busty glasses
of beer and the relieving pee

the sharpening of the knives
after the slaughter and cleaning
my nails standing at the skewer

going to bed without throwing up
strong like a bull, indestructible
inside, a precise mechanism

in a firm, supple skin:
an orange man I am
a male orang-orange

somewhere nowhere in the Fields
between the castles, in a village
without statue and fire brigade

but with you, orange woman
your sun-seeking body, every new day
embraced and singed by my love