Queen of Thistles
You say, “Loneliness flows along the rivers”
Cupping my left breast, a pear in your hand.
You say, “Energy changes forms but never dies.”
I am a free agent of the metaphysical realm.
I want you to teach me the sounds women are capable of producing.
Drinking from your menstrual cup, heavy with purpose.
I want to be free to admit the fondness I have for your shape.
You are a queen amongst the thistles.
You sssssh me into softwood pulp, you use your teeth.
Like flowers to books.
My pistil and stamen, wet and pressed against your literature.
We lay in the forest, we dance in the dirt.