Tag Archives: lesbian

A Lover’s Language

02_JulietteGorgeCoppens
Painting: ‘Portrait’ by Juliet George Coppens, 1969.

The first time I said
“I am a lesbian”
The words burst in my mouth
Like overripe fruit in a heatwave
Instantly thirstquenching, and indescribably sweet

I held them in my mouth, gingerly
Rolling them around my tongue
Probing the crevices and curves of their cadence
And sucking gently on each delightful syllable

Before long, I began to whisper this sensuous sound-sex to my lovers
Sharing the seduction of their syntax, secretly

The need to tickle my tongue with this luscious language only grew
And I began to announce the words precariously
Without a single thought to whose ears might hear my carnal communication

My inhibitions once daunting,
Were now abandoned
I grew wild with desire to spread the words
Exposing myself publically
At first for the sheer pleasure

But as this intercourse became voiced
Suddenly, I behold a new oral tradition
The birth of a sexual lexicon
No longer restricted by denial of its name

So now, I twirl my tongue in service of this shared dialect
So that others might drink deeply of its truth

 
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Tonight I miss you

Tonight I miss you

The way your smooth, cool, fingers flirt with the skin of my neck,
Beckoning me to invite you ’round for a drink of my lips

The night howls and even the moon seems absent

“Let’s slip our masks”, you’d say, impishly
A chesire grin playing across your face
And off we’d go, our shadows dancing under the night sky,
as we caper from dream to dream riding trails of stardust
While the world contents itself in slumber

Tonight I miss you

Where is your thick brown hair to wrap my fingers in?
And those liquid amber eyes that see into all of my lifetimes?
My heartbeat searches for you blindly
As my body yearns to be with your body

Skin Humming.  Backs Arched.  Oceans of Honey.

Tonight I miss you.

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947792-bigthumbnail

Past Lives

old memories

We laughed our way through life
Too loudly
Heads thrown back, mouths open
Ferocious belonging
This was not about balance

You gave me Home and Proud and Safe.
Fierce and Brazen

Would you recognize me now? Would we compare weak knees and battlescars? Or Thigh slapping jokes and  Tall tales of our conquests with a glint in the eyes and that old familiar smirk?

Beloved trickster, I fear the next I see of you will be an obituary

And so I look for you in lovers and strangers, in bus stations, around corners and at the bottom of coffee cups  in lonely cafes
I find you inside dirty jokes and belly laughs and the curled smoke of a strangers cigarette
I find you in worn flannel shirts and the delicate grooves  of vinyl records
In the earthy smell of autumn and the pockets of old trenchcoats

The scattered detritus of a life forgotten and
Accidentally excavated.

 

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Butch Girl, Beautiful

butch femme

It can be arms canvassed in tattoos, eyes that flash with daring, an incorrigible smile or something as understated as a steady gaze

In any case,  her eyes declare

I want inside your wilderness

From across the room, from down the hall, haunting eyes that buck authority and promise all sorts of dirty things

The language of her body reads “I perfected the art of fucking girls up against walls in the safe haven of these strong arms.  And I want you.

The swagger of her approach promises to pin me up against a wall, hold my arms above my head, kissing me like it is the end of the world and worshiping at the altar of my breasts,  if it truly is the end, you goddess, are the only one I want rapture from.

Tasting her name in my mouth, I roll it around my tongue and suck deeply, licking the cologne that clings to her curves, treasuring a kind of woman-ness that isn’t taught in school or photographed for magazines.  There is nothing in conflict or transition about your butch woman’s body.

Carressing her undressed form and applying a warm, wet mouth to her natural grace.  This dance lays both of us bare and exposed, scarred beauties.

I can see where you have been wounded by eyes like nails, where your beauty has gone unrecognized in a world that defines woman, so narrowly.

You can see, where I have been accosted by intrusive hands, claimed  and seized by those who perceive my feminine state as nothing more than plunder.

And so we wrap each other up a tangle of arms and legs, while the intensity between us burns like the oceans between our thighs.

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Meredith, in a Lime Green Parka

Meredith in a lime green parka
waiting for her lover
in -33 weather
in front of the unwed mothers house, around the corner
asked to meet my dog.

The dog barked furiously
shaking her collar, barring her  teeth

And you let her.

She sniffed at you|
distrustful  of your hooded form
and you smiled patiently,
content to let her suspect you.

Until at last, accepting the safety of your genuine tenderness
She pushed her cold wet nose under your wool soaked fingers

Through the bundled layers of our winter wear, on a starkly cold January night,
your undemanding strength betrays you.

Femme to butch, I catch a glimpse of your suave heart
Steady and true.

No need to ask how you identify or what pronoun you prefer

Just me.

Just you.

winternight

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