I.
There’s a certain pain to coming
apart, an emptiness that opens
up inside you that wasn’t there before
and you want him again
before he’s even out,
before you can feel him running
into the soft creases of your skin—
you leave it for a while,
picture it sinking into your body
like rain into parched earth
and then you imagine flowers
growing where there weren’t any before.
II.
Some days, Jesus Christ,
I want you so badly it’s like a sickness
and I’m lost in fever dreams—
stretch me and crack me open
wide and explore me taste me
every inch of me and I’ll repay
in kind
i’ll open up to you
in ways i haven’t before and it hurts
but in a good way and the blood
feels like evidence of some
Holy Sacrament
and i certainly called on a higher power
when you gritted your teeth and pushed
our hips to fit
like cogs in a clock—
my body vibrated with the bell’s toll.
III.
Now, my shirt still smells like you
from clinging to your chest so tightly
and pressing my face to your hot skin
to inhale a goodbye.
If I had a microscope, I could
find bits of you on me,
in me, and the thought makes me hold
myself a little tighter—
when I squeeze my eyes shut, it’s almost like I’m holding you again.
~~~
L.K. is a teacher living in Philadelphia and never wants her students to read this. She isn’t really a writer, but is horny more often than not. She thanks her long-distance relationship for inspiring this poem.
horny poetry review 