frida kahlo to marty mcconnell…

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses.
you make him call before
he visits. you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.

— Marty McConnell —

 

soul seeds…

soul seeds

She had this way of always finding the good
and believing in everything despite all that she had seen.
And that is what I loved the most —
the pure magic of her undying hope.

— Becca Lee —

this and that…

this and that

Tonite, my pussy thrums. I will slip out of my sexy lace thong. I will slide along the warmth of my folds and marvel. (This amazes me: how soft am I!) I will slide my fingers along, around, inside and out pleasuring myself, thinking of this and that – attached to you. And the scent of my juices will sugarcoat the moans of each breathy cum I make.