I n t r i c a c y

by Nicole Robison


Some women suffer from penis envy.
I do not.
If women had penises we would be just like men,
two separate heads trying, trying to work simultaneously
to produce an outcome suitable for both active minds.
The organ itself is too simple for a woman to possess,
the intricacy of our mind would render it confused;
up, down,
loose, limp, or rock hard,
the variations of the penis’s ability to perform are limited to two possibilities;
it either will or won’t.
Now a vagina also has a mind of its own
but cooperates well with the activity above.
Its emotions can be swayed by a persuasive tongue,
Tight lipped to open mouth.
But it takes time, patience
a soft hand down the curve of my back,
a breathy kiss behind the crevice of my ear,
a pressing of his stomach against my stomach,
hips clicking gently together.
Then, I might react,
open the mouth of my cave;
show off my wet luminous crimson, burgundy walls
catching light like a prism and drawing it,
deep, deep into
the vastness of my soul.