7/15/2018 Pleasure By Lisa FolkmirePleasure Like an exercise. Like an improper delivery. The nights in your bed and the insistence seeping from my own throat of more breakage, more pushing, more pulsing, until the pain turns to white. Marrow or bone white. Breath shaking pain. Like the taffy pink and pulling back on itself in the window. It has an existence and its existence is this: to turn and thin but never break until devoured --there is something to be said about the way a pair of thigh muscles can hurt in equal amounts in that soft humming pain. The taffy pulled over and over in shop windows. I always wanted to take its pink sweetness. I’d watch and wait for its skin-- always thinning, never tearing. 16, sweat, crotch on the narrow piece of hard bike-seat. For 23 miles, I’d push myself, pulsing past cars and trucks and vans and busses. Girl on wheels flying through the city streets for her own good. The biggest damn secret yet. And my halfway stop, my sweet release, letting us both fall to our sides and feeling the green grasses tickling my neck. Coolness, to lay there, arms spread, back in the dirt, breath catching. It’s something they don’t teach young girls, the pleasure of getting off. All by yourself. Like a threat. Our ears covered during adult conversations about female pleasure. The pleasure talk in front of our eyes, like the taffy behind the glass, turning itself in the window. Even in the almost pain, even in the almost rubbing. Upper thighs against upper thighs. Young girls don’t joke about masturbating on their parents’ couches. Young girls only joke about masturbating with a dick. We must all be self-masochists. Certain butterflies and birds change colors based on their surroundings not like chameleons but more like ideas. You see the purple, you see the blue. (Pleasure is a word that sticks in my mouth.) ![]() Lisa Folkmire is a poet from Warren, Michigan. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts where she studied poetry. Her poems have appeared in many journals, including Heron Tree Literary Arts Journal, Gravel, Atlas & Alice, Timber, and Ann Arbor Current Magazine. She is also a reader for The Masters Review. Comments are closed.
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