French doors, open windows, your scent on a pillow

Written by: Asante Indira

Don't you want to know this touch?
New skin under the lines on your tips
Just wet, soft.
Fat right underneath the brim, and this is your foreign
because your delicacy lies under the structure
but mine was here on this platter
waiting for you

And let you be the concave structure that I form my body into
Curled and coiled in the crevices of your comfort

And no man has held me
Just because
To pass time and close his eyes
and inhale this body here
No man has folded me into the dip of his arms
without reason, just because

I'll believe this is all I've needed
Daddy says I curl behind and beside nothing
to return to the womb
I know the soft of my mothers arms
and the pillows of her body
The cord was cut but she still fed me
but no man has held me