But first I wrote backwards.
First I learned to breathe without my throat.
Once, my teeth chattered alphabets and people sat in rows
to hear me speak.
Later I wrote on paper and the paper cut itself to emptiness.
Later I sat alone in the pew.
Once I chanted into the empty nests of finches.
Once a cathedral grew in the meadow,
crowns of flowers on the skulls of deer.
Before that I had children.
After that, everything I loved became a hole.
I lay down and shouted names into the dirt.
After that, eyes grew upon my heart and all those eyes
grew hearts and all those hearts eyes and hearts and eyes
were trapped inside me in the dark. Later the children will
come back and we’ll swim moonlit in the river.
Later, an emptiness will swallow me and whole.
After that I will turn to grass.

Lisa Allen Ortiz

falling into the flesh

December 14, 2019

I’m falling into the flesh,
into the sadness of the body
that cannot give up its habits,
habits of the hands and skin.

Margaret Atwood
Keep

desire passes through me

December 14, 2019

It is not normal that a girl teaches her boy, but I am only showing him what I want, what plays on the insides of my eyelids as I fall asleep. He comes to know the flicker of my expression as a desire passes through me, and I hold nothing back from him. When he tells me that he wants my mouth, the length of my throat, I teach myself not to gag and take all of him into me, moaning around the saltiness. When he asks me my worst secret, I tell him about the teacher who hid me in the closet until the others were gone and made me hold him there, and how afterwards I went home and scrubbed my hands with a steel wool pad until they bled, even though after I share this I have nightmares for a month. And when he asks me to marry him, days shy of my eighteenth birthday, I say yes, yes, please, and then on that park bench I sit on his lap and fan my skirt around us so that a passerby would not realize what was happening beneath it.

– I feel like I know so many parts of you, he says to me, trying not to pant. And now, I will know all of them.

Carmen Maria Machado
The Husband Stitch

I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books. My father bought all the books he read and never got rid of any of them. There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep) in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parents’ interest, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not. Nothing was forbidden me. In the seemingly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves. I had always the same certainty of finding a book that was new to me as a man who walks into a field has of finding a new blade of grass.

C S Lewis
Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life

Socks…

December 14, 2019

“One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

Spread your legs wide –

December 14, 2019

Yes, wider.

I want you to wait for me sitting with spread legs. I want to imagine you that way on my journey home. It excites me; I like it. I want to inhale the musky scent of your sex immediately I enter the room.

I want to see you there spread wide for me.

I want your legs spread so wide because I want you to be completely open. I want you to obscenely expose your wonderful complexity to me.

I want those spread legs not just for my pleasure, on a whim. No, I want them to be a door to your world. A symbol of your submission. A surrender of all modesty and inhibition. An admission of your need for penetration.

And once inside, I’ll look for you, find you, discover you. Understand you.

Unravel that thread between your spread sex, your heart and your brain.

I want to feel that thread enclosing me, I want to wrap myself in your beauty, I want that thread to tighten on my flesh, my soul, my cock. I want to see it, feel it, swallow it. I want everything you are: good, evil, happiness, sadness, illusion, disappointment, love, hate, depth, saltwater, roughness, sweetness.

I want to unravel you. With patience, slowness and perseverance. I want to make it simple for both of us. I want to fuck you ‘till you scream for me.