GOgomoni

"get intimate with my uterus," she says and i'm slowly backing away towards the door, "because it's really about You and Us; it's true, there are no ifs, ands, or buts about it." i can't believe she's actually saying this, summoning post-feminist bumper-sticker wit, trying to draw me in with cheap vaginal advertising. she'd already knit a pink yarn uterus and airmailed it, enclosed a hand-written card in the package - "My heart pines for you,                                 &

The silence of our intents says more than my childish words could. My hands tremble as I crawl under your sheets, the cold threads and your radiating heat. My desperate asking allows me to satisfy my primal urge. I’m gluttonous – selfish. Let me run my fingers along your hips, waiting for the hitch in your breathing, waiting for the tension in your body. The aching in my thighs, my repression. My rattled breathing mixed within your firm silence. Your grasp on my ilium means more than the super-objective of the hour. Plain and simple, let me have you. Let me show you what you never had before. We both know I shouldn’