By C. Thompson
Head
Shoulders, knees, toes
Plus hands. Warm and buzzing round my waist,
They wake
me.
To my body’s wants. Wants
Your lips on mine
Cloyingly sweet amaretto
Then also
Teeth occasionally pin-pricking the
flesh
Sharp like
A tart lemon sour.
Sour, sour acid
shock my eyes open, awake
Aware of you.
Your proximity to me
and despite my insecurity
I yearn to know you like
this.
The ocean calm is emptied of its passion.
Be wind rough and wake me. Fill me,
Heaping portion of you to satisfy—
as I’ve never been one
for diets.
Ignore that tired cliche, I’m not so gimme-gimme
greedy.
Simply waiting for permission
to take
a
bite of you (or two)
thirst—that wanting language
no,
with you I think there’s something
that I’d rather like
to eat
C. Thompson is a Massachusetts transplant who has always desperately expressed herself in as many ways as possible. By day (or night) she is a flight attendant. Outside of work she cycles between hobbies and daydreams, hoping to take advantage of the vibrant Boston Bi+ Community through involvement and mutual support.