Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved. I dream fear in radical light shape and shadow— our night sun and day moon know the blood sky the bone wind the muscle and flesh rain the earth-weight traps and prisons where our slippery slopes are built too high on circles of madness which I journey to often
The old woman hovers near the woodstove and drags a calloused hand across her crinkled forehead as if wiping away smoke and sweat. She pauses, looking; her eyes flash between her fingers and strike my soul. I feel her in my mind, looking, searching, all the while reading the history there. Where have I gone
I love and fear flying—it’s a total rush!
I feel it and want it to last: your hot breath on me like a summer breeze before orgasm I tell you to take me slowly But I don’t mean it— I want the thrust and fire to rocket me to the highest of heights until your kisses cannot mute my cries of joy I