Alison Miller


His open closet is an avalanche
of cloudy blues and winter plaids,
festival tee shirts and tough-to-tie

Tibetan pants toppling each other
like snow. I watch from over
his shoulder as he sets like the sun

between my knees. I am aching
moss slowly churned into moist
earth. I am always naked here.

My shoes are by the front door
and the yard is full of bees. From
his fingers, I take my taste of God.

There are flowers in the bathwater.
There are mushrooms in the tea.


When you were lying
there, on your back on
the yoga deck, knees
pulled in and fallen
to one side

with the sun slanting
onto you and you
bare-chested and you
in only shorts, I knew
how you would look

on some sunny morning
between wild fucking
and orange juice. When
I saw your tight stomach
with its perfect

navel I tried to pretend
I’d already had you,
like your body was old
news. I would want
you less, I think,

if you were my husband
whose skin and cock are
perfect, who loves me
differently than I
imagine you would.

Realizing Elaina

I could
my tongue starting just behind
her ear and snaking around her
jaw and down her
long neck I could definitely

my hands cupping
her breasts I could definitely
slide my finger
into her and match our hips, twist
our legs forget ourselves, come alive
and lose ourselves again I could definitely

turn her over
I could definitely be turned over by her
and take turns weighing
on each other, dropping
into each other
her heavy breasts my heavy shoulders


Alison Miller is a writer and sex educator whose poetry has been published in various literary magazines including Hobart Pulp, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Bareback Magazine. The owner of Sex-Positive Adult Boutiques in Richmond, Virginia, Alison currently resides in San Diego. She is the editor-in-chief of Throats to the Sky Magazine.

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