I am a sidewinder

tongue, licking
thirsty lips as
my thrusting hips
sway their way to you

smoothly, weaving

belly, surfing waves
of hourglass sands,
winding side-valleys
marking hypnotic trails

only eyes can follow

you watch me shed
my skin- silk slipping
from shoulders,
hissing as it falls

on the floor. I am

slithering up your leg
contracting, coiling
around your snake:
pulsating soft flesh

of my sidewinder mouth.

Late afternoons,
it is this time
that I, a woman,
take my turn to ride
my husband’s jeepney.

I hoist myself up
on the driver’s side
then l o w e r my body
onto the seat and
swing my legs
inside.

My husband smiles and says:
“There, it’s your turn.”

I tentatively touch
the l o n g handle
of the gearshift, close my hand
around its head then
gently
coax it in reverse.

Easing the vehicle onto the asphalt
it isn’t long before I am looking at the
long
hard
expanse
of the road ahead.

My shoulders strain my shirt
as my hands and body
completely maneuver
this sardine can on wheels
as it thrusts
through the gas-fumed streets.

At every stop, a passenger
slithers and squeezes
his or her way between
the wet
sleeves and mixed odors
of other passengers.

A man behind me rests his
big
hand on my shoulder:
“para ho”
I grunt and snatch
the change on his palm.

It is not easy to do a man’s job
toward the end of the day
I drop my last passenger off
floor the accelerator,
speed through empty streets so fast
the sweat beads spatter on the windshield.

And despite the aches
a sudden urge wells up
to see my beloved.
I imagine him waiting
for me knowing that
I could never wait

to come to come god!

to c o m e

home.

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Tonight I am on a pilgrimage.

I kneel before the bed
that is your pedestal,
gazing up at your image of
half-closed eyes and half-open mouth.
Like a good devout, I reach out to trace
the invisible skein of your senses,
fingertips trailing goosebumps
along your belly and inner thighs.

I bow my head to greet your other one,
beginning the slow litany of
caresses climbing your world-tree
using reverent lips that have
always chanted your name.
I speak in tongues that lick, flick
and swirl around in fervent worship,
until it is you that begs me
to take you inside the altar

that is my mouth.

Johnny Walked
into a bar,
his swagger prompting
the dancing crowd to part.

He made his way toward her
as she raised her glass
in greeting.
He stares into her eyes
with arrogance fermented
from bottles of anonymity.

They dance,
she succumbing to his tempo,
one mastered
with each sip,
each smile
in every blotted invitation–

intentions hidden
behind each gasp of
black swirling liquid,
searing
through cork and stopper
(throat and chest)
ripping
through the labels
(one button after the other)
pooling
on the floor
(when weakened knees give way).

Johnny walked away,
his swagger a tempered warmth
providing a cold safety
that lingered in the dregs.

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I came with the violence of last night,
where we wrestled
on a crime-scene bed,
limbs entangling
underneath the sheets
in a tug-of-war with
the half-ripped clothes
we couldn’t wait to take off.

The fingerprint bruises
digging into your back
must’ve been my revenge
for how you pinned me down
and sliced my lips open
with your tongue,
muffling my cries
that begged you to

stab me
again
and again
and again,
charging my body with
multiple counts of ecstasy,
fracturing my voice
into whimpers as you

continue to beat me
into the sated stillness
of a moonless night,
perfect for covering up
your crime by carrying
my limp body and
burying it
in your arms.

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Let us plot the intersection
points of comfort sex.
Let y equal me
Let x equal you
let us lie down
and make an equal sign.
you then climb me
based on the probability
of who lasts longer
when we whittle away the hours
joined at the vertex
of flexible angles,
sometimes rotating,
sometimes bending,
often shifting
from 45 to 90 degrees,
building momentum,
colliding against
every curve
letting the sweat drop
like Newton’s rain
of two apples
bouncing with the
speed of light
until we reach
the apex and
you climb down
and leave right away.
After all we
let ex equal you
and why equal me.

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In worship
I kneel,
bow my head
to your
other one.
I touch
slowly,
kiss
softly
then I
lick, flick, swirl, suck,
all at the same time
until you call out
“god.”

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I am craving a sandwich.

I can almost imagine
the tangy waft of
sweet and sour
mixed with the lather
of mayo spread between
sheets of creamy white bread
filled with pickles,
whole and crisp with its
firm texture rubbing
against my lips as it
slides into the folds of
red engorged tomatoes,
crevices awaiting exploration
by a greedy tongue
teasing black olives
into smooth tautness,
sucking into tenderness,
stabbing until it bursts into
the savory fluid thickness of
finely chopped cauliflowers,
dribbling juice on my chin,
eagerly lapping up
every drop, swallowing
every seed, until I devour
every imaginable pore
of the grainy bread.

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