Slake
I’ve never seen sex walk like that.
All duality, denim and dark curls-
pheromones oozing out to permeate
the air like maybe they came packaged special-
and suddenly my skin is opening its pores,
and suddenly my skin is opening its pores,
parched earth for the slake of rain,
taking in all that sex before I even know I want it.
taking in all that sex before I even know I want it.
I want it.
It’s not for a few days that I realize there is a man
wrapped in all that sex; behind the wheel
and under it, beneath the cedars,
in the ocean, in the front seat and the back
alley, one foot in a tide pool,
one hand in my hair, eyes closed. Eyes closed.
He’s still there when I open them,
tentative and temporary, self-effacing
and self-occupied and strongly self
in ways both sub and super human.
The residue he leaves behind is tenuous,
filming every scientific name
of every native plant, every thrift-store record,
It’s not for a few days that I realize there is a man
wrapped in all that sex; behind the wheel
and under it, beneath the cedars,
in the ocean, in the front seat and the back
alley, one foot in a tide pool,
one hand in my hair, eyes closed. Eyes closed.
He’s still there when I open them,
tentative and temporary, self-effacing
and self-occupied and strongly self
in ways both sub and super human.
The residue he leaves behind is tenuous,
filming every scientific name
of every native plant, every thrift-store record,
every drop of light that falls through the redwoods
to surround me like a rainstorm,
like a rainstorm, like a storm.
to surround me like a rainstorm,
like a rainstorm, like a storm.
Gorgeous writing!
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