my body said: Come here, I am yours as there is no me.
And you commented that you would like to fill in each of my openings.
But it was what I chose to show,
how I wanted to be seen,
and you took in
what I gave you.
I never took you in: hard or long or thick or salty or rough.
There was no you in
I promise: it’s soft and warm and wet and sweet and ripe for the picking.
Again, it’s for me.
I place. I put. I pick.
Then comes in the confusion when he has me down on my knees and I become quite the conundrum as I’m begging him to put his hand around my conquered neck, and I tell him that
“it’s yours, yours, yours!”
as he has me, con-
as I’m writhing on the hardwood floor.
There are spaces where I’m political and spaces where I’m primal.
There are spaces where I’m no-means-no and spaces where I’m tits and legs.
And spaces — which I choose — where men fit between.
Jessica Sheets is a freelance editor who holds a B.A. in English from San Diego State University. She has never been published before, but would love to have her backlog of years of writing finally see the light of day. She is also currently working on a chapbook manuscript titled “Naked Selfies.”