‘My Mistress’
My mistress’s hair is like autumnal trees,
coarse on my frail skin.
Gleaming on my face, her cheeks—the colour of dawn.
Her luminous dove-white body intertwining with mine,
like leaves on a windy day
whirling from one direction to the other.
Her nipples—dark and swollen
staring like berries
waiting to be tasted, eaten.
She looks at me with stormy grey,
crossed-eyes
waiting for me to finish
as I taste the plain, raw oysters
of her vagina.
This article originally appeared in The Body Issue, published February 1, 2022.
-2_600_375_s_c1.png)
