When sky settles into an azure blue, each shadow of cloud becomes keyholes, occluded openings only perceptible to hedonists on their backs, nude on a knoll, in solitary climax. The body becomes a waterfall, precipitating pleasure until I am at last simply as small as trace DNA luxe dry cleaning could maybe remove. When it is just me I have nothing to prove to judgmental pretenders who dangle a cock like a key outside of places I require approval to be. Heavens are where I am focusing, the only witness to my opening.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 23 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press) and Atheist Barbie (Maverick Duck Press). She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website kristingarth.com
Rough Diamond Poetry 