Knot Hole
—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis
hopefully I’ll feel something major tonight
—Trish Consunji, Sacramento
Away from him who doesn’t always see me clearly/honestly enough
I play with you and play that way stripped bare and wanting
There’s time tonight to crash against a wall
pinned limbs stretched and arched, breathless
Fueling attraction branded by a scratch
I memorize smooth roundness, strength, and bones
There’s sure ease when you fondle and exert impression
Using talk dirty for clues and your fine contours guiding everywhere else
Grateful to surrender those remnants of ache that hinder my style
____________________________
It’s difficult not to think of you that way that way when you’re lean in stark shadows
too beautiful in form to leave and I trace torso so I may swoon again
You see me there not there not part of you yet so far maybe never
but imagine touch like that and think of me slow on you
beating tangled throws sweat and thick rhythm
Even when it’s wrong. Even though it’s hopeless.
too beautiful in form to leave and I trace torso so I may swoon again
You see me there not there not part of you yet so far maybe never
but imagine touch like that and think of me slow on you
beating tangled throws sweat and thick rhythm
Even when it’s wrong. Even though it’s hopeless.
—Trish Consunji
____________________________
what you've done
—Trish Consunji
i ponder what you've done to me
and lips don't change a thing
even when laid there
...overt gestures claim the heaviest air
urgency caught out of sorts
you can't be the only one
and maybe this flutter,
this pang will subside
though down my back
and i am yours too often
that dimpled smirk sideways
will shake/break my world
i inhale anxious moments
until i am all over you
—Photo by Katy Brown
Amnesia
—Trish Consunji
out of order
barely intact
cracked
shaken
& lost
I wish
to melt
out of this
leave even
good times
just fall
in love
with maps
& forget
the way
he called me
‘baby’
__________________________
sun day
—Trish Consunji
skin wicked with luck his nearness overwhelms me
as i observe his sugar quiet down my black soul
the best taste of him comes in the morning
when warmth is whispered through a dark red ache
there is deep pleasure in the sweet sounding word
s
he conjures out of blue and i play with on the bed
___________________________
this place
—Trish Consunji
inside this place it's happening again + not your swagger or sway
nor your reach or reflection can mean what they mean as inside this place
inside this place your honey spoils me timing has wrecked those curves
how do i get over you when i long to be under you?
__________________________
Today's LittleNip:
I breathe in 7 a.m.
Sustained in trance breathing
By propitious wooing
Sustained in trance breathing
By propitious wooing
—Trish Consunji
_________________________
—Medusa
For more about Trish Consunji, see www.midtownmonthly.net/music/musical-chairs-trish-consunji
For more about Trish Consunji, see www.midtownmonthly.net/music/musical-chairs-trish-consunji
—Photo by Katy Brown