by Sunny Hill
It is Friday night, and you lead me
to the couch. I believe you are a goddess,
anticipating my needs before I say them. The couch.
has always been a place
I’m a little afraid to go. I don’t trust couches,
and I don’t trust the way people sit on couches. I know
there is no one here but us. It is only you, the most beautiful woman,
and me. These are leftover fears,
but they are written so deep
into my hips. I try to shake
the trembling off my hands, but it doesn’t go
away. Still, you take me as I am. You take
my scrambled mind
and love me. Friday is Venus Day, and I say
my thanks to Aphrodite. I cry out my prayers, reaching for you
again and again. I do not want your body to leave,
but it does, eventually. You clean me, and this heals
me too. We kiss, and it heals
something deep
and dark
and unspeakable. I feel the tangled roots
ease. I feel something inside me
breathe. You breathe, and I breathe. Echoes
of warmth. Warmth all the way down, warmth
from my toes to the bottom
of the cushion. We leave the couch
eventually, but we take our time. I savor
the magic of a Friday night, the magic
of you.
***
Sunny Hill (they/she/he/xe) is a queer disabled poet from New Jersey. They have been previously published in publications such as Camp Hiawatha and Cosmic Daffodil Journal. They read tarot cards and post poetry on Instagram @fromsunnyhill.
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