From Sylvan Scene to Silver Seas

Airborne swimmer, in flight, she does not cling to herself; she is dispersible, prodigious, stunning, desirous and capable of others, of the other woman that she will be, of the other woman she isn’t, of him, of you.                                                                                                                                                –  Hélène Cixous, The Laugh of the Medusa, p. 260

Oak-dark eyes.

Lips, bitten, blossom forth

Rose-raw.

 

They ache to explore

That dark and dew-sweet place

Where tongues – like vines – embrace.

 

The stirring swell of waves

Which urge to break between her thighs

Come to crest,– collapse in salt-edged tides.

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