She pulls a blanket over her head,
so the birds won’t see her cry.
She touches her pussy reluctantly sometimes
but most mornings it is the first thing she thinks of,
sliding eagerly in the sandy sheets.
She whispers to herself as she walks on the beach,
films herself facing the ocean;
if she lets herself go completely, its roar
rides through her pelvis. She could not have started this alone.
Over and over she wants him to ask for it,
wants him to want her wanting,
wants desire to fill her until she feels full.
She can make herself whimper with her fingers,
she always wants more.
vale a pena ler o poema inteiro aqui.
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