Shoulders, thighs, clever tongue, I can’t stop watching as

Water pours over the terrible choice for the well behaved.

He lives in his head and I covet the muscle stretched porcelain,

As my fingertips circle organic sounds that will not be forgotten.


With holy water issues, I bake on my knees and his brokenness heals me.

Little hollows beckon where boundaries push and he crushes against

Dizzy polka dots – where light threatens his dark. Do you want to, Lass?

I don’t fight the love you demanding top half, and the last oh is a zero –

Anyone can lift you up, he says, but I’ll make yours, mine.


From soft pink mirrors and backwards glances, octaves drop.

Can you hear me? I am full of cake, and he is full of me.

With his eager mouth, he moves me between two frequencies.

Where to first? So close now he aches with shivering choice,

But we can’t find the words, so we live in speechless antici…




© Elle Wonders 2009–2016