sweet, portentous lust - from Jean Rollin's "Rose de Fer"
Sometimes, when I necked with a stranger, I went
close to that - pheromone, sweat,
scorch, kiss of life - tasting in him
some male, unmothered world, and through him
a male world was tasting me.
Every time, I was pretending, without knowing,
that I could lay my body like a soul in his hands
and he would not take it. But he might. But he would not.
Sharon Olds
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