Desire, in Three Parts


There’s a certain pain to coming

apart, an emptiness that opens

up inside you that wasn’t there before

and you want him again

before he’s even out,

before you can feel him running

into the soft creases of your skin—


you leave it for a while,

picture it sinking into your body

like rain into parched earth

and then you imagine flowers


growing where there weren’t any before.



Some days, Jesus Christ,

I want you so badly it’s like a sickness

and I’m lost in fever dreams—


stretch me and crack me open

wide and explore me taste me

every inch of me and I’ll repay

in kind


i’ll open up to you

in ways i haven’t before and it hurts

but in a good way and the blood

feels like evidence of some

Holy Sacrament

and i certainly called on a higher power

when you gritted your teeth and pushed

our hips to fit

like cogs in a clock—

my body vibrated with the bell’s toll.



Now, my shirt still smells like you

from clinging to your chest so tightly

and pressing my face to your hot skin

to inhale a goodbye.


If I had a microscope, I could

find bits of you on me,

in me, and the thought makes me hold

myself a little tighter—

when I squeeze my eyes shut, it’s almost like I’m holding you again.




L.K. is a teacher living in Philadelphia and never wants her students to read this. She isn’t really a writer, but is horny more often than not. She thanks her long-distance relationship for inspiring this poem.

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