Womanhood, wood by Leanne Bridgewater

I am not a silent poet

a woman’s hands
a gland, a glide of the
hiding hand
a woman’s neck
is hidden
land of the wild
strokes from some collar, cut
fresh from the pleasures
of the woman’s gland
in the hand’s stroke
is a glad neck
to be in the neck of the
neck of the womanhood, wood.

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