tongue travels strange trajectories

experience is slippery

i sit on the deck / 87 degrees melting / silk dress revealing chest / hair tied back low and lazy / last night the first fireflies arrived and you / tried to visit me / in your dreams / you went to florida instead / carried a heavy pack amidst palmetto trees / and long grass.

i sit on the deck / listen to a man describe / the slipperiness / of experience / i close my eyes / and you are here behind me / hand on shoulder / firm / decided / squeezing / your lips just below my ear / a trail of kisses into the / nape of my neck / and i am here / in the slippery.

a butterfly dances / on soft pink daisies / lips part / breath releases shoulders / cracks open back of heart / thick and dark and forgotten / a serpent awakens / she / uncoiling / summons guttural sounding / tongue travels strange trajectories.

without words / i am remembering / what love means.

what arises, arises.
when did i stop writing poetry?
the moment i needed something solid and
without a man had only my body,
unwanted for a moment, even by me.

my mirror vanished.
i remained
all nerve endings reaching
for illusions shattered
again and again.

here i am

wanting
slippery
uncoiling

here i am

love
loving

here i am.

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