by Joyelle Osburn |
There is something unexhausted of you
in this aging washed-out coat
and I lift my nose
to taste the smell that desires
to be invited-
ignited in the closing of your breath,
untarnished and thirsty.
Like rage, it licks,
and enters my dreams
glossy as brilliance-
rush in my mentation
with warmth that comforts
I breathe you in unfathomable-
not wanting to exhale.
by Tony Bush |
daughter, family, love, mother, son,
a poem about pregnancy
The gentle swell, eroticism's outcome,
the heat of passion empirical,
beads of love conceived this miracle.
So still, this tranquil life, yet felt
a heart in rough plan stages;
taps a growing rhythm,
embryonic, sweetly ages.
In the gilt-edged cameo of the mind
you, in my body edifice,
change face and gender seamlessly;
mysteriously as a chrysalis.
So still, this tranquil life, and then
his hand flat on my abdomen,
we jolt absorbent of the joy
when you kick...and kick again.