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I love femme poetry about butches…is that vanity? Or just being proud? Or do I just love to read how much they understand butch desire?

This is a piece of a poem by D.A Miranda.

– Sweetheart, this is how it is:
when you emerge from the bedroom
in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back
over forearms, scented with cologne
from an amber bottle—I want to open
my heart, the brightest aching slit
of my soul, receive your pearl.
I watch your hands, wait for the sign
that means you’ll touch me,
open me, fill me; wait for that moment
when your desire leaps inside me.

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