Poetry by EllenMore

I told Ma that I was working...

Sherry asks me what / I can possibly get out of kink.

He did it anyway

Something of an explanation

Ben told me he'd once / been a bouncer

I want to turn my eyes away / so as not to spy the guilt

I stood on the deck and raised my blouse

I am now kneeling. . .

His slap wasn't all that bad

I really remember the mornings / after you've left

Tanka intended to be in the style of Yosano Akiko

Eddie detuned his guitar a step. . .

Mine had, as they do, a short skirt. . .

I sift its pages / through my fingers

We didn't have kids

I asked the captain / where we were bound to.

He said to turn my back

I sit at my desk

Restless in the night, I could not sleep.

How well I got to know / the back seats

I walked barefoot / out of the shower

I watch him from across the room

It's your body.

Mine has receded. . .

It's not just the repetition. . .

Her conversation would flow past him. . .

What I cannot understand, I cannot say. . .

We are walking

Taper could be these slender candles. . .

I lay curled on the floor

It’s not that you ask, but how.

A poem.

A poem about incestuous guilt.

It hits you when