Before the chicory unfurls to the sun,
meet me down the gravel road
beneath the Tulip Poplar.

I will Revel in your aura-
Share my radiance with you.
Our beautiful friendship gleaming.

Exchanging love in the purest form,
the way that we relate.
Laughter dancing in our eyes

If the world saw things differently
We could do this everyday.

Until then,
We’ll look forward to next summer
If only for Thursday.

the lines by her eyes read how she parted the red sea.
her fingertips rub your scalp like she’s writing a testament to every thursday night in your studio apartment.
her voice at 5:54AM will bring you to your knees faster than any choir medley could.
she will ask you to dinner over text, and you will tattoo it on the inside of your eyelids,
skin bleeding,
but every dream has a home inside your head,
a prophecy set in your bedsheets.

you were never quite a righteous woman,
but you’d get baptized in her bathtub,
for there is no deity perfect enough nor cruel enough
to speak her into existence.

I am no longer running away
from what I said.
They know and I know
I am smart,
so never again will I lie saying,
"I don't know."
But God give me the strength to say,
"Yes.
No.
Out of respect for my privacy,
I do not wish for you to know."
-shevaun stonem

There is nothing more
powerful than a woman
who's realized her worth

10:15 AM
12/8/21

Her face; like the moon, a golden summer hue
But I prefer her dressed in blues
Like ocean waves; or Stevie Ray
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼’𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎

Her body; like a plume, of feathered emeralds
Elegant, and gentle
Like cursive script; or a wind-swept kiss
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈

Her soul; like a treasure trove, of good intentions
And one too many exceptions
Like one more last dance; or shotgun romance
𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎, 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒

There’s nothing sweeter
than the lick slick thick of it
on her skin. Her, of course,
being Mary, being leg spread
****** pure good girl gone bad
Mary, in holy remembrance.
Are you trying to tell me
that she didn’t have a lesbian phase
in college? That she wasn’t
****** on wine coolers
playing spin the bottle with hair
in her eyes and Joseph only a wet
dream away? When we don’t
count as people I don’t think God
gives a **** if Mary got it on
with another woman. Or maybe
I’m trying to justify blasphemy
with, well, blasphemy.

Put me in a confessional
and I’ll tell you all about angels
with eyes and rings for bodies,
I’ll wax poetic about how may
the Lord be with you, and also
with you, let’s **** to the sermon, babe.
If you want to **** my blood
dry, we’ll mix it into the Communion
wine. Oh, we’re disgusting.
Oh, we’re absolutely going to Hell,
a dingy motel off the motorway
on the way to the middle of ******* nowhere.
I’m the better version of God,
good girl gone violent,
good girl gone taken advantage of,
good girl gone **** it, if God exists,
he can come and stop me himself.

The palms sit tall
stand long
speak softly
sing clearly
search deep and wide
sway in all winds
but never complain
never seek shelter.
They are there to be found
and to shade her
and all who gather to hear her wisdom
and to taste the colour of it.