I have robbed the garrulous streets,
Thieved a fair girl from their blight,
I have stolen her for a sacrifice
That I shall make to this mysteried night.
I have brought her, laughing,
To my quietly sinister garden.
For what will be done there
I ask no man's pardon.
I brush the rouge from her cheeks,
Clean the black kohl from the rims
Of her eyes; loose her hair;
Uncover the glimmering, shy limbs.
I break wild roses, scatter them over her.
The thorns between us sting like love's pain.
Her flesh, bitter and salt to my tongue,
I taste with endless kisses and taste again.
At dawn I leave her
Asleep in my wakening garden.
(For what was done there
I ask no man's pardon.)
Episode, by Elsa Gidlow. As featured in On A Grey Thread, 1923 edition.
these florescent lights in this classroom;
the noisy girls gosip;
equations on the board;
a daily, yet I think of her constantly. everywhere I go. she tends to follow me. I'm not sure why/nor do I want it to stop. she makes me feel pleased with myself makes my posture less tense. I draw her in mind.
what a great study she would be.
so this is where i’ll lie, it seems. this is my cross to bear. this is the hole in my chest, this is the break across my spine, this is the part where i tell you i have been left wanting. (you know this part already.) this is where i tell you that these teeth are sinking into my neck, but they aren’t yours, so perfectly square, and this is where i tell you that i am bleeding now, but not by your hand. this is where i am nothing but ash and dust where i wish i was seafoam, the sand turning to silk under my body and your eyes. this is the part where i hold you for too long outside your car and where you hold my gaze in a church gym and where i think about telling you that i can’t do this, that you could never hold me back, that i am putting walls between the two of us because without them it’s nothing but floodgates and green and your mouth. it’s always your mouth, and your gentle fingers and your laugh in an empty room. it’s your smile and your tears of joy and your frustrated scoff and your shoes on my front carpet. this is where i turn to face you and feel the ache. this is the part where i love you still.
You came to me,
When my life was on a stand-still,
We didn’t need each other,
We were complete in our own way
Never wanting or needing for anything.
Yet the moment you appeared
A space formed within me,
A space which you fit perfectly.
And I was found.
I found myself anew,
And we were perfect.
We were two puzzle pieces
That were complete
But when we fit in together,
We created a beautiful image
Filled with a love so great
That we found peace,
And our own selves
I’m fucking desperate for a collection of lesbian/sapphic poetry. Hmu, lesblr. I’m suffering...
Merry xmas guys
he said, "say your prayers"
but darling you're right there
Yellow and warm was the song on her lips
Same as my imagined taste of a cigarette
Aching and Clingy, the same as her kiss
With her cause, Im a sudden amnesiac
Never have I lost my breath so quickly
Than like icarus to the sun
Melted wax and coming undone
Like a cage bird I’ll sing of her freedom
The same curve of her frame that acts as a key
She dances knowing everyone can see them
The moves she makes could make any man free
It was the art of kissing you that made me crazy
It was the gentle sound’a scream that me hazy
It was the silence of a song uncompromising
It was the dancing oh so mesmerizing
man, why can’t you just text me?
I really need to stop giving advice I can’t follow,
because I said when you can say things,
you have to say them,
and it’s 3 a.m., and we’re both awake.
I could say something,
tell you we could be feeling all this together
instead of apart,
tell you even if it won’t change anything,
we could hold each other tonight.
And I said I’d go to sleep before midnight today,
but I keep staying awake and feeling all of this.
I don’t know if I avoid sleep to avoid dreaming of you
or if I do it because I’m scared I won’t.
Maybe it’s a little bit of both.
Tonight, we both see each other awake,
feeling similar things.
I feel how it feels to have lost you,
you feel how it feels to have let me go,
but none of us says a word about it.
I want to speak, but why is it always me who speaks?
Why can’t you ask questions, too?
Maybe those are the things you couldn’t do,
maybe that’s why you went away so soon.
But it’s three am, and we’re both awake,
and I wish you’d be the one to speak for once.
she looks at you in the road and hands you a present wrapped in ornate paper.
“open it now, if you want... no, i don’t care! it’s up to you, stop asking me if i want you to!”
she’s laughing. it’s like someone lit a match and dropped it into your mouth, and even though you’re barefoot on borderline freezing concrete you’re burning.
(i am laughing; i can’t help it. i am burning, i am a mess.)
you tear it open and realize she sewed you flannels just like the ones you saw at the vintage store downtown: two separate shirts split down the middle and sewed back up to make a mismatched button up. they’re perfect.
(they smell like her laundry soap and i am thinking for a moment that if we didn’t have to be masked i would kiss her right now on christmas eve-eve and call it an early gift. i don’t, but i consider it. i wonder if she thought about it too. maybe i am overeager but something in her eyes said something akin to a “yes, i agree, i’d kiss you on your curb if you didn’t have a ring doorbell and if the world wasn’t ending or whatever this virus is.”)
i am delighted and so, so full of warmth, it’s like there’s a bonfire in my chest and i am sure she can see the smoke pouring out of my ears. i don’t know what to say.
being this plain warm is so strange. somehow, though, it’s muscle memory. this is muscle memory. this push and pull and full stop when i hug you and the breath catches in my lungs when you press yourself into me. loving again, i think, i remember this. i remember the right words to say, and i make it up as i go along. I remember how to pray that i am not too much, and i remember that i always wonder how you would hold affection for someone like me. i tuck my hands in yours and wipe the sweat from my palms on my jeans just prior out of sheer habit. i sit too close and bring you up in conversation far too often. i smile too wide at your messages. i look at you a fraction of a second too long, i look at you when you aren’t looking at me, i will never get enough of looking at you. i remember this. i want to kiss you so badly. (do you think i remember how to do that too?)
this is new, though: hesitation. i feel a bit like a tiger stalking its prey. you know i am coming for you, you know i like you this way, you just don’t know when this will change. maybe i am not the tiger. maybe it just feels that way. maybe i am just antsy and pushy and fuck-it-i-like-you-so-much-let-me-bite-your-neck-and-you-can-wear-my-hoodies-and-be-mine sort of tempered. impatience in this hesitance, as i am terrified of scaring you off but i want you to cup your fingers around my face and stare at me like i am klimt’s “the kiss” and in turn i want to dip you just like that, in gold leaf and pattern, and it’s all so much for me to even think that i am nervous about the way it might make you feel.
but it’s muscle memory. i know this. i know how to wait.
(something needy inside me stomps it’s feet in irritation. no more waiting. no more.)
(but she is worth waiting for. you know this. you know this. the thing bites at its cage. i smack it with a newspaper.)
she looks at you nervously, hiding it with a chuckle.
“they’re not great, I’m sorry... that’s literally what I was finishing on facetime earlier! ...i know they aren’t perfect or whatever but y’know—“
(i want to punch her. she’s so critical, which is ironic given that sometimes i wonder if she has truly ever done anything terribly wrong in her life.)
you immediately unfold them and clutch them to your chest. you’re sure she can see how bright cherry red your face is. you can’t stop smiling.
(i can wait. i can wait. i can do anything, for you.)
i love an ugly lesbian
one who walks with a limp
talks with a lisp
leaves her dentures out overnight by the bathroom sink
wears polyester pants and men’s cologne, the cheap kind
has a beard so long she steps on it
sprouts warts on her toes, all twelve of them
carries a spittoon in her breast pocket
chortles at church people
i dream of a lesbian who’s always broke
she doesn’t own a car, walks
streets barefoot, near and far
washes all her clothes by hand
steals from wal-mart
scams business-suited man
lights matches on her wooden leg
barbeques freshly plucked birds on her shopping cart
seasons them with salt, that’s all
licks her fingers in the moonlight
i crave a lesbian who’s fat and fleshy
so big she can’t fit through the door at starbucks
and they set up an outdoor café just for her
so fat she wears bangles on her fingers
her belly is a boom box
her stretch marks are hieroglyphic etchings
she’s so heavy, tectonic plates shift beneath her feet
so huge, lake erie is her bathtub
i lust after an unsavory lesbian
she blows away my lackluster day
leads me in a lambada, lights
lantern between my legs
lays my head down on lace pillows
humps me like a lamppost
lacerates me with leather lust
lacquers my body with blue latex paint
logs the forest for prime wood
builds me lakeside throne
sets me there and worships me
-goddess in bluelines my path with ladyslippers
ravishes me with sex words
pets me like little lamb
wins me by landslide
Ode to Unsavory Lesbians tatiana de la tierra
cold and low above the poplar tree
and sweet pea petals
pink and white/what
on this personal best night
for casual stars
and silky constellations
through the far
of the sky
I found the other half
above the pillow
where you lay
face to one side
with nothing in this world
or the next
June Jordan, from My Lover is a Woman: Contemporary Lesbian Love Poems (Ballantine Books, 1996)
Everything was okay
But now, I dont even know what to say..
To the girl with brown eyes
It’s 2 am, and I’ve got your smile in my head and I cant get over your scent
Just another brown eyed girl
i whisper these poems, under salt lamps glow,
for laying next to me, breathing soft and slow,
is aphrodities daughter, and while im no sappho,
i am gay