Sex is not a one-to-one
ratio of gender to desire.
It is a cloud of fine red dust

falling from the black
windowsill of wordless
night, the fragrant chorus of heat

from our twin bodies begging
redemption. Rough-cut of chest,
fingers moving up to eyes,

shell white rolled
back. Bedding, cold relief,
I trace your outline in sweat. We

fall undone—the spine
of leaf unpinned from its tree.
An opening at the root. Morning

will come with terrible
teeth but now we clap
backs when dynamite goes off.

© Terri Muuss

Discussion is welcome! Thank you ...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s