her hairy spindles await movement.
an eighth of the almond beads
embroidering her crown
rolls, scrolls across the green
surrounds, spots the anticipated.
she detects what she needs
and what she craves like the prayers
for breeze in heat or
melodious noise to fill deathly
silence.
she’s feared and she revels in
her loneliness.
the meagre
body crawls close, too
self-assured, thinks he can
take
take
take
like the rest of them.
her glare deep enough to
see every hair on his back,
and abdomen that hides a heart throbbing
with licentiousness self-proclaimed.
he oozes hopes to take his fill
and populate, as he was born to do,
birth rights plastered into clear view
by wandering legs, irritating strut, infernal self-absorption,
watering at the mouth and-
she strikes.
interlocked, one two three, a quick finish.
the deed is already done, relief
makes her hairs stand to attention like soldiers
preparing for battle.
the skies glow divine, the gods know
the main event is yet to
come.
legs steadfastly wrapped, she holds him close,
little heart beating like a little drum.
a warm embrace and the silent entrance
of a merciless pair, gliding through skin.
oozing supremacy complex now
swimming in crimson,
delectable.
she’s drinking him and she’s eating him
in her favourite position.
crafts a web, sticky gleaming thread,
secures her day’s work
well done.
Beth Barker is a poet, student and zinester, writing in Manchester. Whilst her appreciation for literature is now explored through her degree at the University of Manchester, her love for writing manifests itself on her blog. Her first recognition was the Poetry for Peace contest between the colleges in her hometown of Blackpool, resulting in a first prize win. When she isn’t writing poetry, Beth enjoys making zines, drinking coffee and embroidering art inspired by her words. She blogs at https://brdbwords.wordpress.com.
Foxglove Journal 