0
Muscle Memory

Lover
your whispered words
of a time before,
still carry
feather-light fingertips
across the skin
warm-spreading
and a tightening
breath, caught fast
in my chest –
I remember.

0
Senses

I was asking it, even then
I pulled a man down
and in, it was my burning skin
flushed red
the d├ęcolletage said plainly
when mirroring the memory –
is it love?
The pleasure was a puzzle
upon me, that my piece could
connect with another so easily
perfectly – and yet
the picture eluded me
indeed, confuddled me
that I should write it down
back then and years later
now, still vexed –
Does good sex create love?
Or does love create good sex?

0
I didn’t see you there

Unintentional –
your little fingers
now bruised and misshapen
I would have you curl your tiny fist
and strike me
but settle with heavy heart;
as an anchor, sinking rapidly
under the weight of
breathless shame –
the kind that words
cannot quite convey.

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