When I said I like you this way:
I meant autoerotic, sunday afternoon,
heat. I meant orbital, clenched fists,
our concrete apartment /
accidents & bruised tongue
When I said I like you this way
I meant milk lapped,
you begging for what I couldn't,
vulpine & submissive in the only way.
I meant commitment
I meant strawberry red, accented,
What are we waiting for?
Sophie Essex doesn't consider herself a poet though others do; her work having previously been published in Black & BLUE, The Belleville Park Pages, & Lighthouse Literary Journal. Her first tiny pamphlet Objects of Desire was recently published by Pyramid Editions. You’ll mostly find her at poetry nights rambling awkwardly about sex and surrealism. At other times she runs Fur-Lined Ghettos & Salò Press. Find her @furlinedghettos.