Not-So-Open Book

I wonder if he knows I want to fuck him

cover to cover;

that I imagine how hard his dick would get

or that I fantasize licking the edges;

that I can see him from behind me

as if I’m the mirror,

mirroring his mannerisms unintentionally,

highlighting what I don’t want to forget.

I want to kiss him when he gets too close,

so I use my body language, deceptively

turning in the opposite direction so as not to

give away the ending,

even though all I want to do

is be on the same page.

Subtle; I suspect that’s how his hands would feel

gliding across my shoulders, the backs of my arms,

the underside of my breasts, along my cracked spine.

Gentle, attentive, soft, nurturing,

engulfing me in banned verses.

I wonder if he knows I want his fingers

to slip along my pussy lips like notes in a locker

and read my clit like braille.

I’ve invented his indentations to my paragraph

and dog-eared enough of them to recite them

line

by

line.

IG: @daydreamifications

A Remembering

New

She was a child running with feathers in her hair.

They clung to the strands in loose knots,

beautiful not in their color or presentation,

but in their freedom.

           She laughed as they lit their

fires and sang their songs and beat their drums and

rejoiced and reveled in the hum of their prayers.

Running with her siblings in the cool mist of night,

the earth between her toes were illuminated

by her mother above.

Full

                            The first time she howled

at the moon was in secret. She didn’t wear feathers

in her hair anymore. She pressed her lips and her legs

close together so as not to conjure alarm. She burned

her sage in secret, cleansing in spirit as menstrual blood

to the body by the billowing wisps. She hadn’t forgotten

how.

Source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/86061042855592258/