New Poetry by Michelle Dominique

by thiszine

by Michelle Dominique


My lips at the concave of your back
to explain the things I would like to do
to you, for you, with you.
The smell of summer on your
hands through my hair.
Your breath above me
beating hot sun against the roof.
Underneath which we lie.
Underneath which the others talk.
Underneath which the house settles.
Underneath which the crust turns into magma
which is fiery, but nothing compared to
your arms around me.
Does the Earth know how fast she spins
when your body envelopes mine?
Like the sky wrapping the sea.
Your lips at my own
to explain the things you would like to do
to me, for me, with me.


Michelle Dominique divides her time between Chicago and Northern Virginia. She lives to write.

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