I feel her pearlsheen light folding in on itself
Inside my veins,
Inside the bowl of my sacred womb,
More quickly on the nights
In which she impregnates herself
With her own fullness.
I feel her growing heavy
In the cave of my mysteries,
And I wait in reverent pause
For the tides
And the blood
To bring me to my birth.
***Seriously. Get a fucking tourniquet, little lady! They’re not hard to make, you know!? You’ll save money on paper towels. Make yourself a tourniquet… or maybe consider a change in hobbies… perhaps….***
***Yeah… I mention blood and bleeding… like… a lot. But that is what writing feels like to me. Also, I think I may have mentioned in an earlier poem that I have a thing for blood. Wasn’t kidding. I was a vampire in a past life… maybe…? I dunno. I’m weird.***