We sweat out the sheets
lose our breath trying to keep up with passion
misplace fingertips to find places that
gift shivers down the spine
and lend lips to the other in an
offering of pleasure.
This bed is our temple
where we call out to God
with eyes closed
in the hope that we
can stay in this heaven
forever.
There comes a time when a woman needs to bury her missed orgasms. Throw the bones of shame in the dirt. Once and for all.
It’s as if I’m just now learning to befriend my body. Telling the little girl inside me feeling pleasure isn’t a sin.
But feeling numb for years should be.
How much time was wasted in trying to achieve some holy state? When they taught me to pray they asked me to connect to a higher power, but tell me what is mightier than the universe between my legs?
I’m just now learning to explore. To confront my desires. To befriend them as well. I’m just now learning that there’s nothing wrong with my hands or anyone else’s bringing me pleasure if that’s what I want and was created for.
God is a woman.
So for God’s sake, just let her get off.
pleasure
is synonymous
with happiness.
in the dictionary-
but not
always.
Shadows dance across my ceiling
I’m alone
except for his scent
still lingering on my sheets
baby powder and testosterone
thirty days later
I give in to the sweetest sin
because he already knows
my weakness is his tongue
warm on my skin
his arms, strong
hold me together after all the pleasure
and his lips, flushed and swollen from my teeth,
whisper You’re beautiful in my ear-
This is the way I forget about
all the things you decided not to give me, dear.
and with his words I push away
any leftover traces
of you.
