My Daughter: Erotica Goddess by Emma Paris

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My Daughter: Erotica Goddess
by Emma Paris

I imagine this season as a dream of becoming apple and harrow.
Leaving a skin shed in the bathtub instead of tears, 
leaving the robe over the door and 
drying like a leaf in the ragged wind. 

On this night the moon is a full bowl of broth 
over the empty socket of my body, 
on this night I charge like an ancient mare through this vision of October
and wake up on the other side.

Veil tickling my eyes, I sway through the in-between 
my body has always straddled like a woman in heat. 
Waking up in the planet's rotation and continuing to prosper
in the breathy, fluid hallowing of the goddess.

Homage to the broken tongue we speak in like gulls. 
I call a prayer up to god and instead 
the mystical, shadowy goddess swells up 
in the hollow of my collar and the dips of my pelvis, 
the stretch of skin across my lower back 
and speaks to me through my daughter.

Darling, the dahlia doesn’t bloom all year round, 
this elegant dysphoria owns me lovesick and 
I have no cure other than complying.

I stand among her fallen antlers, 
burying these feelings 
like a body.

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