“Being a sensualist meant realizing that my body grew flowers because being sensual required so much toiling of the soil, watering with arousal of thought and actions, and deep prayer for the orgasmic joy of watching your flowers bloom.”

“The night is stripped bare,

and so are we,

wrapped in the hush of unseen hands,

in the flicker of something ancient,

something unspoken,

something more honest than sound.”

“We are a pair of silences

searching for echoes in touch,

weaving wounds into the hush of skin,

erasing memory with a slow caress,

dissolving the space between you and me.”

“/ Use me / I’ll wax and wane under the tides of your need, my flame will be drawn to your breath, and you’ll eventually learn to yearn for me /”

“…and silence

sits in the shadows of my mouth, pools

in the places your tongue occupies

on occasion, watches as you steal my speech

and I surrender.”

“because perfection of the gentle gaze

is beheld in the waxed layers

upon layers,

            upon warmth, upon touch,

  upon layers of revision — of love”

options both limited & boundless.

legacies of sin beauty is blamed for, which

beauty must harness or perish—an eternal test—

so use the body

when you are told you have nothing else.

your only asset. your only worth.

“As the wind

Gently caresses

Its hands

Over my soft breasts

A surge of femininity

Gushes through my veins”

“I summon forth She who lies in the shadow—

sharp salvation, sweet salivation

my sultry, my silly, my sensual

in Her every skin, she summons me

crawling on all fours…”

“this is your Sensual speaking,

calling you Home.

come as you are. rise from the Earth.”

“kiss me good night,

drift over crevices

rest

in between places unknown”