by Ashley Inguanta
Her belief in God astounded me
in the same way a river would press to a woman
who has spent her whole life wading
in one pond, kissing the surface.
Everything made sense to me then, in that room,
in the boathouse, waiting for kingdom come,
waiting for her to touch me, all rugged
elegance, a cowgirl with scars.
When she unbuttoned my shirt, unclasped
my bra, she cupped my breasts, wrapped my wrists
with her hands. She butterflied into a whisper,
fit her body into mine.
She smelled like spices, honey.
Her skin was the warmth of God’s home.
She moved like a lion.
I brought her into bloom,
and then rest,
the lightening of body,
no longer stone.
One thought on “Atlantic — Ashley Inguanta”
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.