She was a curious girl,
Who loved the smell
of old books,
chasing butterflies
and touching herself
under the covers.
— Michael Faudet —
Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
elysian limbs
splay across cotton weave
seed-soiled sheets till
love-ruined fields
with each sun setting
dusky slow
a new beginning
steams
clinks
percolates beyond the frame
coaxing shadow out from under
dawn’s beaten brow
tangled looks between
dream-pale eyes
scour reservoirs
of dim remembering
looking for a sign
waiting for something
heaving forth the squee
darling, turn away
this touch
and thus touching
leads back
to then
when
before Lot looked back
crows fly west
only to murder what is left of light
– Lola Moi –