Give Me More
Stretching open I feel
exactly how I want to.
The fear makes me tremble
but want feverishly.
The moon is not full.
I am not wild now.
I wake
and I roll into memories that daze me.
I feel my mouth still full
of kisses and sweet fruit.
The loneliness is both cruel and dear.
Can I be your earth for a while?
Can I feel shared instead of taken?
Please
There could be merriment
and fire as deep as bone.
Opaque
Burying my cheek between your
shoulder blades
the cold mud seeped
through the feet of my stockings.
They watched in heat
and horror
our swift, mocking dance
and ran their tongues along the roofs of their mouths.
In hindsight
we were not each other’s lovers at all.
we were each only lovers
with shifting words for human nature
and one shivering heart.
Shady Evenings in Early Spring
Drenched in rainwater
pressing cold fingers to
cold necks
Heartbeats strong
and foreign
small thighs sticking
to your ribcage.
-The leaves were in my hair for days –
Morning was
especially dank,
but my daffodils finally bloomed by the beach trees.
Shakti Sackett is a Virginia-born and raised writer and photographer, based out of Antigua, Guatmela, Guatemala. She writes material typically drawn from dreams and those memories so thin you have to grasp them as gently as they come to you to write them down.
Image by Michal Klajban, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Author photo by Bienvenido Cruz.
