When I Was Straight

June 16, 2018

I did not love women as I do now.
I loved them with my eyes closed, my back turned.
I loved them silent, & startled, & shy.

The world was a dreamless slumber party,
sleeping bags like straitjackets spread out on
the living room floor, my face pressed into a

slender pillow.

All night I woke to rain on the strangers’ windows.
No one remembered to leave a light on in the hall.
Someone’s father seemed always to be shaving.

When I stood up, I tried to tiptoe
around the sleeping bodies, their long hair
speckled with confetti, their faces blanched by the

porch-light moon.

I never knew exactly where the bathroom was.
I tried to wake the host girl to ask her, but she was
only one adrift in that sea of bodies. I was ashamed

to say they all looked the same to me, beautiful &
untouchable as stars. It would be years before
I learned to find anyone in the sumptuous,

terrifying dark.

Julie Marie Wade

The Touch

June 10, 2018

The trees have kept some lingering sun in their branches,
Veiled like a woman, evoking another time,
The twilight passes, weeping. My fingers climb,
Trembling, provocative, the line of your haunches.

My ingenious fingers wait when they have found
The petal flesh beneath the robe they part.
How curious, complex, the touch, this subtle art –
As the dream of fragrance, the miracle of sound.

I follow slowly the graceful contours of your hips,
The curves of your shoulders, your neck, your unappeased breasts.
In your white voluptuousness my desire rests,
Swooning, refusing itself the kisses of your lips.

Renée Vivien


May 26, 2018

Writing to touch with letters, with lips, with breath, to caress with the tongue, to lick with the soul, to taste the blood of the beloved body, of life in its remoteness; to saturate the distance with desire; in order to keep it from reading you.

Hélène Cixous
Coming to Writing

kiss me again

May 17, 2018

I don’t just want to take your breath away. I want to rip it from your mouth and keep it locked away between my teeth. You can only have it back if you kiss me again

Meggie Royer
Literary Sexts

Powdered unicorn horn was once thought to cure melancholy.

What carries the hurt is never the wound
but the red garden sewn by the horn
as it left – and she left. I am rosing,
blooming absence, its brilliant alarum.

Brodsky said, Darkness restores what light cannot
repair. You thrilled me – opened to the comb.
O, wizard, O, wound. I want the ebon bull and the moon –
I’ve come for the honeyed horn.

Queen Elizabeth traded a castle for a single horn.
Surrender to the kingdom in my hands –
army of touch marching upon the alcazar
of your thighs like bright horns.

I arrive at you – half bestia, half feast.
Tonight we harvest the luxed forest
of Caderas, name the darkful fruit
spicing our mouths, separate sweet from thorn.

Lanternist, in your wicked palm,
the bronzed lamp of my breast. Strike the sparker –
take me with tremble. Into your lap
let me lay my heavy horns.

I fulfilled the prophecy of your throat,
loosed in you the fabulous wing of my mouth –
red holy-red ghost. I spoke to god,
returned to you feathered, seraphimed and horned.

Our bodies are nothing if not places to be had by,
as in, God, she has me by the throat,
by the hip bone, by the moon. God,
she has me by the horn.

Natalie Diaz

A summer view

He stood there staring at the empty field, remembering the things that had happened in the summer. He remembered the pedestal table and the apples and the way the sun had browned her arms and face. He remembered the blue dress and the way she had looked without it and the movements of her body as she brushed her hair in the lamplight at nighttime. He remembered how she had painted the house and how honest she was and how he had trusted her.

He stood there for a long time. Once he turned as if to go back, and then changed his mind. His eyes were short-focused and full of trouble. The yard was dark with big evening shadows and the little farm seemed to have shrunk in the evening sun.

H E Bates
The Little Farm

Body, Remember…

April 22, 2018

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,
not only the beds upon which you have lain,
but also those desires that
glistened for you openly in the eyes,
and trembled in the voice – and some
chance obstacle frustrated them.
Now that all this belongs to the past,
it seems as if you gave yourself also
to those desires – how they glistened,
remember, in the eyes that gazed at you,
how they trembled in the voice for you, remember, body!

C P Cavafy
Trans Evangelos Sachperoglou

Stiff with desire

April 21, 2018

unspeakable intimacies

April 19, 2018


She wanted unspeakable intimacies. She wanted to have him, utterly, finally to have him as her own, oh, so unspeakably, in intimacy. To drink him down – ah, like a life-draught.

D.H. Lawrence
Women in Love

Sweet as sin

February 27, 2018

He holds me in his mouth
and I think – for once –
my body is not an object.
He holds me in his hands,
pulling skin between fingers
and I think – I am
the goddess I was named for.
I have never before been
worshiped by a man and now
I feel his name echo
through the catacombs
of this once dead body
a thousand times over.
Sweet as sin, steady as prayer
tumbling past my lips
when he lays himself at my altar.