Poem I

Muslim women don’t make love
Garters don’t hug our thighs
Suggestions under our hijabs
I like to get my pussy licked a lot but nobody seems to lick it right

I tell you how your tongue should move
Circular, soft like slow motion autumn leaves turning tricks on the tarmac
My mother taught me to hug frail boys when they sleep
My body turns itself inside out,

I hug myself and I dare let my thumb rest against your crown