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Guest Poet Willa McDowell


“Alone, at last.”
Resolve and resistance give way.
Feminine craving stirs over primitive flames
as drool betrays deepening anticipation.
My tongue waivers on its approach toward
the darkened devilish form,
unable to annul the temptation.
Will I regret this night of indulgence?

the epitome of desire—contact,
fleeting, contact.
A faint sigh escapes
as my lips hug tightly,
slowly, taking in every millimeter,
ev-e-ry delicious spherule.

Fork in hand,
chocolate smear across bottom lip,
my testimony offered,
“I have sinned,
sinned against my diet resolution
with hot, homemade chocolate syrup,
and buttered, buttermilk biscuits.”
An innate, ancient, maternal
ritual, repeated when
alone, at last.

September, 2001

Willa McDowell's questions:

I have found myself with a little bit of free time on my hands and I am trying to revise some old pieces of works, and finish some others that have long been tugging at my sleeves.

The following is a quarky little poem meant to be shared with an intimate loved one who has a sense of humor. It reveals more about the reader than the writer as the ending may come as a surprise to some readers.

Hope you will take the time to let me know how you feel it flows.

I have been working on the breaks in the lines--how does it read to you?

How would you make the breaks if it was your writing?

Was the ending the least bit of a surprise?

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