Spring 1994 • Vol. XVI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 1994 |

Clitoris

This time with your mouth on my clitoris, I will not think he does not like the taste of me. I lift the purplish hood back from the pale white berry. It stands alone on its thousand branches. I lift the skin like the layers of taffeta of a lady's skirt. How shy the clitoris is, like a young girl who must be coaxed by tenderness.

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Tender

By Toi Derricote

This time with your mouth on my clitoris, I will not think he does not like the taste of me. I lift the purplish hood back from the pale white […]

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