poems for lesbains sorted by

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My ingenious fingers wait when they have found The petal flesh beneath the robe they part.

No one remembered to leave a light on in the hall.

When I stood up, I tried to tiptoe around the sleeping bodies, their long hair speckled with confetti, their faces blanched by the porch-light moon.

The poem I want read to me after sex.

Unclasp it like jewels, the gold still hot from your body.

Your traveled, generous thighs between which my whole face has come and come— the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there— the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth— your touch on me, firm, protective, searching me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers reaching where I had been waiting years for you in my rose-wet cave—whatever happens, this is.

Bad Dog Walk me, pet me, play with me, run with me, leash me.

It will run its course, the course of fire, setting a cold coin on the forehead, between the eyes.

Coincidentally, the cover to my book of love poetry also depicts a black woman and a white woman.

There are so many roots to the tree of anger that sometimes the branches shatter before they bear.

This, of course, does not begin to scratch the surface in highlighting amazing lesbian poetry! Both the doctor and the patient are the same age, both are gay, and the poem is an incredible look at the emotional attachment between the two men, both as patient and doctor, and as gay men.

It would be years before I learned to find anyone in the sumptuous, terrifying dark.