Tags
cunnilingus, erotic poetry, finger fucking, hoarfrost, poem, snow, sonnet, window pane, winter god
Mist moved beyond the tree tops. “Let’s resume,”
you said, guiding me. We’d hid from the snow
after school that day up in your bedroom—-
with your mom downstairs. You bit your pillow,
keeping your groans in. Off in the forest
dead things rattled; a wet dream, all rime wings,
toothy gristle, stirred. Hoarfrost and dark lust
make for some corrupting magic; somethings
good grades can’t save us from. You soaked my palm
as you curled and jerked — letting a touch more
chill in. Chill and conjure. Even your mom,
sensing cold queer power, paused at the door
while frost and nightmare pressed against the pane,
watching you watch me lick you clean again.
