Pussy Poem.

My yoni is an artist

She paints on blank canvas in broad brush strokes a river that runs down a waterfall


She likes to lunge down inner thigh

and squat to the ground

eating dirt and giggling at my ankles


Often she hides

in dark shadows of loose trouser legs

scoffing at me from hot darkness

“Bless her” she sighs as she lounges in lace

“busy little thing”.


My yoni doesn't miaow

she roars.

Eats life alive and bites in with teeth

Like eating watermelon with both hands

Juice runs down chin in delight


Yoyo swears.

Like a fucking sailor.

She rides on the waves of choppy seas

emblazoned by the moonlight

She’s also the jellyfish in the water, bouncing on current flow.


She does not like tampons. Or thongs.

She'll cycle, but be nice

When I tell her to shush she holds it for a while...

Then bleeds on white trousers and cackles.

She’s a witch. Dirty Bitch!


Mine doesn’t moan when she bleeds

Instead

She stands.

Heavy and stable

like Banyan tree roots in rich African soil


Yoni is discerning

Studious sensate, she collates vibrations and energies and then decides

She won’t be rushed anymore, so don’t ask.

She’s lost patience for that


Crib-walking into Womanlihood,

I will hold onto her

Like a saggy-pant rude boy on a street corner

She's got swagger

She knows she’s the key. No secret


Her temple is ancient

She’s a 50 year old divorced warrior woman

She's Tiresias, who sees with eyes closed

And she’s a lost little girl, clutching at fingers of strangers, trying to please, so people will keep her.


She is yoni. Noony 2.0. And this time, she won’t laugh unless it’s funny.



- by Ava Riby-Williams (2017)


Image credit- Georgia O'Keefe