" I am queer for my lover's body. Horehound is mescalinestrong. Dazzling as expensive fireworks. One taste of my Horehound's feast and I beg for his tendrils to twine around my genitals like how a bull is primed for a rodeo. I am ready to be ridden until I kneel on the dusty ground, horns to the dirt, begging to be tamed. Tame me, my sweet, my bitter Horehound. Make me grow unfettered around your body, as your namesake grows.

Lie still; let my tongue function as fingertips, my senses of touch
and taste meld. Let me be the cartographer of your body I know how
to start: from your left nipple, closer to your heart, where the
pump of blood heats that tit more than the other. A more flavourful
place to begin, no? Let me suck, childhungry, until it spurts bitter
on my tongue, pushing my mission to the hollow under your left arm,
again warmer because of your pumping heart. I will nestle in your
brush, press my mouth and nose close to your skin, follow the flow
of your blood as a paper boat in a storm drain does, forcefully,
involuntarily, to your left wrist, kiss your fingers as if they were
a sacrament, read the lines in your palm. I will find the oases, the
monuments, the dikes, the hells, the battlegrounds of your body so I
will know where to hide when you love me or when you fury me. "

― Justin Chin , Burden of Ashes