For me, women are

intuitively easy to love. You are

femme, the feminine, my goddess, enchantress, 

my witch of a thousand hearts. I burn for you.

I tell you all the things that I

will never allow myself to hear: you are

precious, you are beloved, I will hear you,

I will keep you safe.

You fall in love with me.

I house myself in the space between

your neck and your collarbone, that

slight divot where with breath 

or tongue or touch, you will shiver for me,  you will moan.

I wish for a copse, a sanctuary, 

a moment further in and far away where

surrounded by tall, dark trees 

and all their pine eyes I could whisper to you all my secrets.

This place does not exist, so neither do I.

I touch your chin, bring your 

mouth to mine. Goddess-child, in my hands

you are known, you are fire.

You burn me and my forests down, you birth us

wretched and charred into our next lives.