You ask
if I will write a poem
I could,
I suppose
write the most
splendiferous
one of all

but not
right
now
not when

your hands
are brewing
warm
cinnamon tea
across my skin

not when I’m
trying to imagine
what might happen
if you began
flowering
kisses
upon
me

My dear,
how can
I write
a poem
when I’m already
inside one?

You know, there’s no pleasure like the joy of being a sexual woman.

You can take your careers, your money, your houses and possessions, and you go and throw them in a lake.

Because life is really all about sex.

That’s what I keep learning, again and again.

It’s the most important thing, woven into the very centre of life.

And I just know I was put on this earth to be a sexual woman, and to explore as much about sex as I can.

Forbid statements like “will God ever meet me?

1 2 3 59