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Aug 2020
The doors to this
beg reverence,
yawning wide
that I might
bow my head
from silken chalice
of clavicle and skin.

Iโ€™ll come in
veil of curls,
feather-ringlets draped
to cover prayers
of tongue and teeth,
hot against the
the taste of
this gardenโ€™s
hidden seed.

Let me kneel
before the altar,
press offerings
of dampened
silk on curves
thick with myrrh,
sugar-slick and
soft as
bruised persimmon.

Edenโ€™s gates
are opening,
tomato-red and overripe
to spill, in runnels,
a warm communionโ€”
of my flesh
of yours.
elizabeth leone laird
Written by
elizabeth leone laird  26/F/north of nowhere
(26/F/north of nowhere)   
   arizona and ---
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