I want to write about the way you touched me and made love to me, but I don’t because I am selfish. I don’t want anyone to know how well you love. how you put a crown on my body and worshipped me and all of my mountains and valleys. How you brought a peridot rain to a sardonyx desert and my sardonic sway. How you made me soft around the edges from the moment I tasted the cigarettes on your lips again. I’ve always loved the way you taste … The way you love me is healing.
from my third poetry book, Made of Earth.