She wears a wet blue dress
and if you undress her
she is not vulnerable or
violated. She is a curved
and proud body;
fertile.
He is molded. He is ceramic mannequins turning sick
against the sea. Noon splits pavement and silicon swallows
in a frenzied gulp.
She is airless, something to know and fear.
When clouds steal our stars, she calls to the moon, carrying all of her love and loyalty back to shore,
while he steals her pearls
in the dark.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 
I loved this poem. ‘When clouds steal our stars, she calls to the moon,’ beautiful line x
Thank you very much. Thanks for reading.
Reblogged this on kinginascent and commented:
There’s a Lynchian alien quality to the second stanza that juxtaposes well with the eroticism of the first. I enjoyed this.
What a comment. Thank you.
No, thank you for sharing your work.
Maggie you write so beautifully! I’d be honoured to take some poetry writing tips from you š
Tips from me?? That’s flattering. I would love to see some of your work, though I am not sure I am qualified to be giving tips š
Just a few pointers. Hehe. You follow my blog already š
Good imagery. I loved it
Your poetry is just so lovely! strange eroticism to it.
Thank you. I’m so glad you like it.