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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