“Suckle my flesh.” There should be more, of course,
something about, “your kisses on my clit,”
“your two fingers inside,” and “my voice, hoarse,
urgent,” “my flesh sweating, flushed.” I omit
the rest because this isn’t about that.
Somewhere a girl sleeps on flagstones, under
thatch-roof and dry-stone walls. A witch’s brat
who knows nothing about lust, that other
magic. No, not even that. So, what then?
Quote from the Torah, Bible or Koran
about female nature being sinful?
Hell no! We go down to the beach, again,
naked breasts wearing shadows of a tan,
watching waves rush in and out like a bull.