Let me Shout

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The feline body in the center of my bed awaits 

in heat until sailing with hardship into my throat’s 

mould. Let me shout the occupation of my lacks,

harvesting desire in my warm mouth, criminally 

licking the voracious winter in Vancouver. 

Skin temperature above normal, naked from head 

to toe, I am an extreme marginal, female conception 

that understands the contact between sheaths 

an infamous savoir in the feminine eroticism. 

Infinite shallow to the effect of talking 

and circling around them.

I invite another woman to be present in my bordering 

her map’s edge, nearing the shores of a rock plenty 

in tears. Only to discover what is impenetrable in us, 

beyond what nourishes the unlimited and infinite memory 

of the sea, unspoiled by lubricated feeling.

And in this oblique space, I find a piece of your hips

in my littered lettering, enamored by our foreign tongues. 

Quivering in free fall just to get here, surrendering

the real precipice I become when seeing you vulnerable 

on my page, writing the crescent alphabet of pleasure 

and threading my vast love for you.