Wednesday, March 9, 2011


When I run my cool hands under your layers
seeking your chest, strong and warm
then onto your shoulders, their familiar
curve drawing heat down through me, searching
for your tongue roughly with my mouth

it is to call you MINE without words
and with complete trust, to fall into abandon:
this is what love is

by talk of freedom, whores and 'men have needs'
cheap trash talk, fast-food sex so rancid
my mouth burns sour
and I'd spit those words right back at you
if I could

Rachel Westfall

March 9, 2011

Sunday, March 6, 2011

Manipulation over a crust of bread

A seam torn open, soft jelly exposed
to the sweet licking of ants,
the barbed beaks of scavengers.

No hearts for the ones left grinning,
for the beaks, for the scavengers,
only the jelly, the sweet soft jelly torn open.

Rachel Westfall
March 6, 2011