An incomplete but well-loved selection
Your thighs your belly--
their sweep and strength--
your breasts so sudden;
nipples budding in my hands,
the sheen of your back
under my palms
your flanks smooth as flame.
Your skin--that inner skin
your mouth deepening
full as an orchid
honey on my tongue.
The dizzy lurch and sway--
seaflowers under water;
changing skins with every touch
and then and again, that voice
--your voice, breaking over me,
opening the earth with its call
and rocking the moon in her tide.
-- Mary Dorcey
Some say cavalry and others claim
infantry or a fleet of long oars
is the supreme sight on the black earth.
I say it is
the one you love. And easily proved.
Didn't Helen -- who far surpassed all
mortals in beauty -- desert the best
of men, her king,
and sail off to Troy and forget
her daughter and dear kinsmen? Merely
the Kyprian's gaze made her bend and led
her from the path;
these things remind me now
of Anaktoria who is far,
would rather see her warm supple step
and the sparkle of her face -- than watch all the
dazzling chariots and armored
hoplites of Lydia
Poor Old Fat Woman
Poor old fat woman, whither bound?
Home to my hearth, kind sir, she said.
Poor old fat woman, living alone!
I live with a woman who loves me, she said.
Poor old fat woman, lonely and tired!
We've plans for this evening, sir, she said.
No husband for you, poor old fat woman, eh!
I've never wanted one, sir, she said,
And you're wasting your time
And you're wasting mine
So push off and do something useful instead.
On A Night Of The Full Moon
Out of my flesh that hungers
and my mouth that knows
comes the shape I am seeking
The curve of your waiting body
fits my waiting hand
your breasts warm as sunlight
your lips quick as young birds
between your thighs the sweet
sharp taste of limes.
Thus I hold you
frank in my heart's eye
in my skin's knowing
as my fingers conceive your flesh
I feel your stomach
moving against me.
Before the moon wanes again
we shall come together.
And I would be the moon
spoken over your beckoning flesh
breaking against reservations
my hands at your high tide
over and under inside you
and the passing of hungers
the moon speaks
judging your roundness
Good Old Body
All those years:
where I didn't have boyfriends and that was OK
because I was fat so that was why;
where I did love women but it wasn't physical
because fat women don't have sexual feelings
so I wasn't -- you know -- no;
those years of the many love poems
with no gender-betraying pronouns,
no corporeal substance -- and no punishment following;
those times safely made possible by being fat.
And now the news:
women who love women
are allowed to cherish their bodies
as they are (if they want to).
The Moon and the Pleiades
are set. Midnight,
and time spins away.
I lie in bed, alone.
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