The size and
Degree of your
Sensuality
It sometimes almost
Frightens me. I feel
Unworthy
Unqualified
Unequipped
To know
This wealth
To receive
This gift
This prick of
Your nipples...
Like two pin-lights
Inside a cosmos
Of skin
As taut, tender, and
Tight as stars.
My God!
Your sensuality
Can almost
Frighten me.
Make me feel
Hard as Diamond
And Yet,
Minute
In The Universe
Of its Largeness…
It’s as if
Your legs
Would stretch
Into a chasm
Deep and Wide
And swallow
My secrets and
Swallow my
Pride...
And gorge my
Insecurities
Whole.
And I
Believe
That sex with
The Soul
Manifests and
Flows into
A slow and
Enduring song.
I believe
Sex
With the skin
Is a physical act
But sex within
The intimacy
Of the soul, unfolds
And floats upon
Erotic sheets of
Poetry… It’s all
Nin & Whitman
Maya & Kerouac and
Zane, Barrett-Browning
Shakespeare and shit!
But I am finally
Ready
To dip
My pen inside
Your whipping
Erotic tide.
But will I
Only drown
When I’m supposed to
Flow?
I never learned
To perfect
That arc
In my dive. Never learned
To swim freely
Against
A rushing tide.
Never learned the righteous
Way to go
Insane, and lose
My mind
Inside of you…
But I am
Ready
To embrace
This newfound
Lunacy...
To close my eyes
And ride
Your wave
To wherever place
It leads…
And so
I go down
With grace
And I go down
Willingly...
Even though
The size and degree
Of your sensuality…
It sometimes
Almost…
Frightens me.
One.
By L.M. Ross
