Smelling of leather
the motorcycle cop
kissed hard and fast.
The Flamenco guitarist flicked
my breasts.
The chef tasted
every part of me.
The insurance salesman
guaranteed that he practiced
safe sex.
The actor talked through it.
The surfer dove in, rode
my body and crested
at the peak.
The psychiatrist asked,
“Am I feeling love for you or
is it just maternal transference?”
is a San Diego visual artist as well as a writer. She has just completed the jillionth
draft of her first novel, The Black Velvet Coat. Her first published poem,
“¡Ay Caramba!” is in the annual anthology, A Year in Ink (2012).
She spends as much time as possible on her ranch in Descanso where she finds inspiration
and revitalization. Her monthly essays on the art of practicing a creative lifestyle
can be found on her website:
www.jillghall.com