Hot Girl (after Chelsea Diane)

my moon is in my first house, which is another way of saying I am a hot girl. a moon/venus combo. a fixed sign. an earth woman. I am so hot I have erupted into an etymology of place. the big red dot on a map you cannot seem to orient to. also slang for YOU ARE HERE. so hot I leave paper trails and drop pins, but have yet to find a person who can actually meet me where I am.

I am my very own love language (translation pending). there is no category for the level of heat I hold. so hot that you will always find me with dirty hands, a dirty mind, or a dirty martini, but my grass is the cleanest green on any side. so hot that you sit at my table, refuse to eat, then wipe your mouth anyway.

I am a hot girl—every POV but you cannot adjust in a way that allows you to  fully take me in. so hot I don’t need an anthem. so hot you must use your eyes and not your hands. so hot I am a hint, a subtlety you cannot understand. as hot as a cardinal direction, Saturn direct, Pluto in Aquarius. I am the good year, the hard lesson, the one you (should not) let get away. so hot you can’t decide what to save and what to leave behind.

I am a hot girl without the need for arrival. so hot I am already here. so hot I abandoned my homeland to find myself. so hot that my heart presses into my ribs when I look up to count the stars. so hot that mouths of rivers tell me their secrets while I skinny dip along their banks. so hot that tectonic plates shift to make room for me. so hot that volcanoes feed at my breast for comfort.

I am so hot that I ask the gods for more. so hot my body is a sacrament, good posture, an irreversible kind of holy. so hot I am a backbone. something you carry in your blood. a thirst. the fucking long version, which is another way to say you will never know anyone like me. by which I mean, if you let me go, you will never (ever) stop reaching.