Originally published by Sapphic Writers Collective, September 2021
Pea Flower Tomioka
Coconut Milk
When my dreams are not of fire, I can smell you on my fingertips.
The fire is a smokeless memory of the places I have never been.
The sound of creaking cedar boards
The bitter taste of orange blossoms
and the high-pitched scent of dew.
You smell of honey.
Of the earth
of woodsmoke
of sunlight
and some creamier texture I was never able to place. It smells of tropical drinks with oversized paper umbrellas.
Perhaps you smell of coconut milk.
These are familiar to me in the texture of my dreams,
where my memories of you are as tricksy as the feel of your kiss on my lips.
Soft and tender
yielding to match me
with no power play for control or submission to my whims.
You matched me.
Kiss for kiss,
word for word,
desire for desire.
Your curves fit into my own,
a tango we painted across the sheets
your breast pressed firm into the palm of my hand
your fingertips spinning golden pleasures where our hips danced together
slow and sweet
singing a climax in the winter nights to come, sharing kisses and chapters by Daphne du Maurier as the snows fell.
Time closed the door on the pleasures of our youth. I heard from a friend that I'd lost you to the same breast that filled my hands to spilling.
I told my lover of your smile as they made me a cup of tea
passing it gentle into my hands as they sat across to hear my songs of you.
And I love them for this breath we take,
but we do not live in Manderley,
and the smell of your honey-
lost somewhere in my dreams-
sits so close upon waking that I can taste it on my lips.
Tomioka, Pea Flower. "Coconut Milk." Farewell at the Fingertips, Sapphic Writer's Collective, September 2021.
https://www.sapphicwriters.org/zines/p/ukhsrzcqu8mwryhl5yy430snnrjtlm
