Last year I put together a chapbook of my erotic poems as a gift for my husband on our 27th anniversary. There's one copy of it in existence. The poems naturally fell into seasons. This one is from the Winter chapter.
Fingertips trace a line
slow soft nape of neck
to hard tip of tailbone
at the speed
I guess poetry is on my mind because tomorrow I have an all-day workshop where we sit around a table and talk poetry and eat and give each other feedback and just enjoy the time together. But tomorrow will be sad because it will be our first meeting since losing one of our members. He made a decision that left the rest of us reeling. And that is partly why I made my decision to give this other voice of mine - the erotic voice - it's freedom. That's not very eloquent, but it's all I have right now.