On the bridge of her lips I consider crossing –
my hips a sailboat with no sails.
Behind me, daisies.
Beneath me, silk drenched with dream.
In the sweet musk of human frailty
I rollick like a ship to sea
when she gazes at me,
knife to meat,
erosion to beach.
Destruction never was so complete.
Spread open like an unread book,
I am searched,
My ecstasy excavated,
Preserved in her skin,
Dissolving on her tongue.
Tag: lesbian poetry
She
I am a marshmallow
She wants to eat,
Soft and sweet.
My long, smooth legs
A road.
Between them,
A cabin to winter in.
What is imperfect
In the sheer glossy world,
Is perfection here.
My soft waist.
My major breasts.
That soft place above my hips.
My cabin is small.
Her face at my window,
She lights a bubbly fire.
Tangled
My hair is simple.
She loves tangles,
Loves entwining with me.
The canoes on the river
Are justified by the running train
Of water beneath them.
What combination of lips and skin
Can we design?
Her hands flare me with sweet sickness.
Her teeth tattoo me
With impatience.
On the river banks
The woods grow up.
Seek my mind,
Steep it in honey.
Warm my thighs.
In the river,
The dead swim among the rocks.
Her tongue on my breasts
Flicks me on like a light.
Her hand on my belly captures my breath.
Among the reeds,
A rusting locket with one picture.
Miniature Moon 