Snowy Mondays

Soft ice fell lightly from the sky
and brought with it the grey days
of not knowing, and sick
sexuality hung from the ceiling
like so many forgotten
childhood drawings, thankless.

Worship Me

Isn’t my skin exquisite?

Taste it. Run your tongue from my neck to my icy
collarbone. Visit my sternum and breathe in
the scents of sex and jasmine that lie there.
Venture a little lower, nipping your way to my
navel.

Glance up at me so I know you’re
worshipping this body with me.

Kiss the sharp angles of
my hipbones, being sure to
pay special attention to the scars. Lap
the salted honey that lies at the apex
of my thighs.

Glance up at me so I know you’re
worshipping this body with me.