© 2017 Sandra Jean-Pierre

I want your
name
to be the only
words
that can
fall from these lips,

your scent
the only
smell
I know
to inhale,

your hands,
the only
ones
to
sojourn
over these

dangerous

woman hips,
these
sacred
woman curves.

Between
these thighs,
your private
resting place,

the planes/plains
of this body,
your solemn
kingdom

and the wars
you
wage,
for me alone.

I need to
say your name
like mantra,

sigh your name
like tantra

keep
these legs
open
for your needs

and keep
you worshiping
this
yoni
on your knees,

cause
Baby,
baby…

I’m your Queen
and you,
You are my King.