For me,
men are not romantic--
The way I love a woman is
so much less traumatic
than what straight girls
intend to endure--
Being lead on is common, I’m sure--
And she never fooled me,
She never used me,
Never did her silence spur anxiety--
I eagerly guided her fingers
inside of me- Where
Boys would lean above you, ***** in power, see- there
Hurt you as they *******, and always them to please--
Dear, your pleasure is mine and
you’re the cause of mine and
I know you’ll treat me different; Better
than what I thought could be fine.
I’ll make you finish and upon me
you’ll dine.
Women-love-women love is superior,
sublime.

Taking her in is a wonderful thing
No longer does peace rhyme
with my suffering-
Today it’s rational fears;
A test, eating well-
Going off to college and
dying off to hell-
Now peace is my room in the morning light
It’s Baroque chords and high marks and
skirts tight-
It’s comfort, and people,
And especially her,
It’s her bold mouth and walking hand in hand
The same hands under her shirt-
And finally do I know what life’s meant to mean.
And finally do I realize peace does not rhyme with
suffering.

I am intoxicated by you.
The smell of your clothing,
The taste of your lips,
The feel of your hair,
The structure of your face,
Everything about you
Overwhelms my senses
And makes me
Pull you in tighter
And bring you in close.
I cannot stop
Wrapping myself in
Your arms.
You intoxicate me.

Now I know that “eventually”
will turn to “Now”
and the way we can be-
hand in hand through town, or playing footsie
under the table
Strong hands, soft lips,
feminine and able-
Smiling with teeth and teasing
incessantly-
Hands on waists and watching her, existing,
being her whole self
And so lovely.