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This is a lesbian poem. For the optimum experience, read it aloud with a healthy amount of swagger. Published in My Lover Is a Woman (Ed. Leslea Newman)
SAILOR
The girls go by in their sailor suits They catch my eye in their sailor suits Big or slight they all grin like brutes In steam-ironed pants and buffed jet boots They saunter right up my alley. I study their easy confident strides Crew cuts and white hats capping decadent eyes They shiver the pearl on night’s oysters prize They shiver me timbers, unbuckle me thighs This alley was made for seething. From the sweat of the street lamp or lap of the sea A smooth sailor girl comes swimming to me Says she wants it right now and she wants it for free Clamps her palms to my shoulders, her knees to my knees This alley was made for cruising. Her face is dark coffee, her head has no hair Her cap shines like neon in the bristling night air She pins her brass metals to my black brassiere Tucks her teeth like bright trophies behind my left ear This alley is very rewarding. She tosses her jacket and rolls up her sleeves On her arm’s a tattoo of an anchor at sea She points to the anchor and whispers “that’s me” And the wetter I get the more clearly I see This alley was made for submersion. Her fingers unbutton my 501’s This girl’s fishing for trouble and for troubling fun She slides of her gold rings and they glint like the sun Then she smirks, rubs her knuckles, and spits out her gum This alley was made for swooning. Now she’s pushing her prow to my ocean’s sponge wall Uncorking my barnacle, breaking my fall And there’s pink champagne fizzling down my decks and my hall As she wrecks her great ship on my bright port-of-call This alley was made for drowning.
SAILOR
The girls go by in their sailor suits They catch my eye in their sailor suits Big or slight they all grin like brutes In steam-ironed pants and buffed jet boots They saunter right up my alley. I study their easy confident strides Crew cuts and white hats capping decadent eyes They shiver the pearl on night’s oysters prize They shiver me timbers, unbuckle me thighs This alley was made for seething. From the sweat of the street lamp or lap of the sea A smooth sailor girl comes swimming to me Says she wants it right now and she wants it for free Clamps her palms to my shoulders, her knees to my knees This alley was made for cruising. Her face is dark coffee, her head has no hair Her cap shines like neon in the bristling night air She pins her brass metals to my black brassiere Tucks her teeth like bright trophies behind my left ear This alley is very rewarding. She tosses her jacket and rolls up her sleeves On her arm’s a tattoo of an anchor at sea She points to the anchor and whispers “that’s me” And the wetter I get the more clearly I see This alley was made for submersion. Her fingers unbutton my 501’s This girl’s fishing for trouble and for troubling fun She slides of her gold rings and they glint like the sun Then she smirks, rubs her knuckles, and spits out her gum This alley was made for swooning. Now she’s pushing her prow to my ocean’s sponge wall Uncorking my barnacle, breaking my fall And there’s pink champagne fizzling down my decks and my hall As she wrecks her great ship on my bright port-of-call This alley was made for drowning.
Jan 23, 2024
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🪴one of my roommate is a poet & sometimes, days later, i find bits of our conversations in the poetry she writes. she likes to read us whatever she’s working on before bed. i often fall asleep in the quiet that follows, thinking about how lucky i’ve become to live in a space where queer being and longing flows freely and abundantly
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🦁An epistolary love-poem that found its way to me during a totally psychotic time in my life, this, as well as Jamie Hood’s how to be a good girl, inspired me to start writing my own poetry. My dear friend was reading Coeur de Lion back when we lived together & would text me photos of stanzas that stuck out to her. We would would often have long conversations about men (obviously), boundaries, relationships, sex, self growth, etc, etc. Those conversations as well as these brilliant words by Ariana have a special place in my heart. In April, this excerpt struck me the most, “I guess there’s no point saying these things we did. We know what we did. But stating them is like reinstating them inside me.” Moody!!!!! Kinda dark!!!!! Real good if you’re into that kinda thing. God knows I am!!!!! Xoxo
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⭐poetry you wrote or someone else's, doesn't matter. plunge into the intimacy baby. silly, dark, whatever
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So sweet to send them to thank them for your shared experience, and I’d much rather look at one of these than ten pics from that day
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