Offerings
he makes me offerings,
little strings of his face he places on my knee,
a line of black ink
in a bowl of milk
one day I slid
my lover's beard barb across his cheek-
watching him squirm and giggle made me giggle too,
for he could not fathom the ecstasy of a hundred on my neck,
or a thousand between my legs
Copyright © Lora Robinson | Year Posted 2015
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