my wounds
don’t feel
like wounds
in your hands.
they feel
like beginnings,
like a chance
to make things
right again.
— Pavana Reddy —
it pays to look up…
archaeology…
And between offering and banquet/
We devoured the gods
—Myriam Fraga—
say my name like only you do…
The space you cross to meet me is a world I want to fill
with wet-smacking sweet.
Let me straddle you with my heart’s heat.
Say my name and feel my lips Become.
heart need…
Sometimes…
The moon echoes back your name to me. It sounds in the deep back of my throat and echoes with the Pleasure of a thousand cums. You are the face I hold between my soft thighs, the heart I hold against my thrumming clit, the lips I ride into each sunset. 
Tonite…
I sang to the moon and I sat with you in her light by water and wave, under tree and root. I am ceremony with you. The words we have yet to speak trace along the soft edges of my side boob. I feel your eyes on me and I reach for your hot hard need with a smile on my lips.
Always…
unbinding…
a spark in the dark…
no magic formula…
Put your hands on my knees,
she said,
and think of me as a book you’ve been dying to read.
—Michael Faudet—
options…
When you don’t ask but I do it, anyway.
deeper, farther, under…
I am on my back
—waiting to be spread wide apart—
waiting for you to die with the sense of you
—the pleasure of you—
the sensuousness of you touching the sensuousness of me
—all my body—
all of me is waiting for you to touch
the center of me with the center of you.
—Georgia O’Keefe—