Little Red

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(Originally posted to Tumblr on Nov 30, 2014)

The trees riot as wind chimes rattle their bones against the onslaught. That long, forceful howl. I could swear I heard a crunch, thick boots in packed snow, a broad silhouette—black on white, eyes shut tight against cold.

But my fire, it crackles, shooting sparks to maple floors and Persian rugs, thick beds of lanolin spread wall-to-wall. I writhe, wrapped loose in red gauze, as cedar moans.

You look frozen, traveler. Frost clinging to brown scruff, cheeks and lips chapped, fingers and toes numb to touch; eyes and mouth ravenous.

There’s bread on the hearth and soup on the stove, but, tell me, wolf in ram’s clothes:

If I let you in, will you swallow me whole?

Hands cupping bowls, cup my breasts, tongue in folds.

When hips buck, hold them down, drink your fill, claim your crown.

What big eyes you have, what sharp teeth—

The better to ravage you with, my red treat.

Now, feast.

Inspire Me

(Originally posted to Tumblr on Nov 5, 2014)

“If I asked you to write me a poem, would you?”

“No.” I smile.

“Why not?”

He tucks an errant curl behind my ear.

I shift onto my knees and the mattress groans.

“Because it doesn’t work like that.”

He smirks. “Do you ever write poems about me?”

I shrug.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means whatever you think it means.”

“Why so vague?” He laughs.

“Because.”

I straddle his hips.

“Because what?”

“Because, if I say ‘Yes,’ then you’re always going to wonder if something I’ve written is about you. And if I say ‘No,’ you’ll be disappointed no matter what I write.” I trace his jaw with my finger.

“You might be right.”

“Better to remain mysterious.” I wink.

He shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just looking out for your fragile male ego.”

He grasps my wrist and pulls me flush against his chest. “It is quite fragile.”

“I know.” I kiss the tip of his nose.

He wraps his palm around the back of my neck and holds me there, our lips almost touching. “I just want to mean something to you.”

“Of course you mean something to me.”

“No, I know. But—” He swallows. “I want to inspire you.”

I taste his lips. “Go on, then. Inspire me.”

Body Language

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Those words, not mine, I covet

These hands, not yours, I feign

If twain should e’er meet and trade places

They’d parley a language, profane

Musk

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You slink through the doorway, soaked

smelling of sweat and dog and river

Sleeping under stars

turns men into boys

Yet, you return to me

Animal

 

I’m gross, you say

I unzip my dress and let it crumple

onto the hardwood

I want gross

 

I want matted fur on brackish skin

and soil-caked claws

Stained feet and detritus stench

10:00 shadow and haven’t showered

in days, unless you count

the rain, the falls, the river

 

Tangled hair and wrinkled shorts

yanked off in fervor, frenzied mouths

and teeth and glands—

Rediscover these here lands

 

Haven’t seen a woman in days?

Well, honey, come

and let me show you

what Mother Nature can do

with these two hands