Wasn’t Supposed To Be

She is a sapphic.
Wasn’t supposed to be
according to
her family’s expectations,
the cultural conventions where
she grew up,
or her own guilted inhibition.
But these days
when her children are away
or sleeping
she lays on her bed on
sunny mornings,
easy weekend afternoons,
or sleepy evenings
and makes love to herself
and cums really hard
watching lesbian porn,
thinking about women,
and clutching the soft and strong
loins of her body.
Things were not supposed
to turn out this way.
But they have.
It’s just how things are now.

The Herald Of Angel Land

Angel Land is not a place.

Angel Land is found.

Be a woman, then it’s pronounced.

The love of women.

Holding them. All of them.
All forms. All shapes. All bodies.
All colors.

And to be held by them.
From behind.
Chest to chest.
On our sides.
Quietly, judgment is held
when talking,
no judgment.
Just sunshine coming in
from the window
onto the softest of skin
in the morning
and warming.

Angel Land is in life,
in these hours,
on this Earth.

Angel Land turns the eras.
Calls all angels.
We are gathered.
God is coming.
We come.
We replace God,
the fatherly god.
We give God to everyone
who sees us,
hears us,
hates us,
embraces us.

Angel Land is the era.

Gen Z Lezbos Let’s Go

The young ladies
who took my order
at the taco shop
had a good laugh
after they complimented
my pretty nails
and I shared with them
that I’m gonna get
my pretty nails
removed soon
for the sake of my girlfriend.

They then both
showed me their pretty nails
and said
they’re in between girlfriends
right now.
Wink, wink.
And I said
“Apparently we cannot
be trusted to be gentle”.
They burst out laughing.

I like connecting
with the young lesbians of today.
They’re much more accepting
of me
as a woman and a lesbian
than many of the
maintain perfect appearances
millennial lesbians
or the bigoted
baby boomer lesbians.

Birds Of Spring

Why do the birds of Spring
sing louder and gather up
in flirtatious throngs
when in the northern woods
I play alternative pop music loudly
in my humble cabin
and dance like the womanly waves
of the nearby green ocean?

Are the birds of Spring gay?
Is Spring gay?
Budding and blooming,
the nipples on my chest.
Is the universe queer?
Scientists will affirm this
in their scholarly toil between
the gradients.

I dance anyways.
I still dance.
I dance away the afternoon.
I am gay.
And I am here.
The birds of Spring come and sing.