poem in which i expand
I secret glitter into him,
galaxy everything I touch.
Sprinkle sparkles in his undershirts,
socks, boxer briefs. Lace his bath towel,
all the clean pillowcases. I don’t stop
until every surface is coated,
till everything in his house is a part of me.
We fuck, and I’m the only one
to get off. He observes me
from the end of the bed, a scientist seeking
the source of all this dark energy.
I thrust my hips against the air,
a jeweled plug winking between my cheeks.
He finds silver stars
in his pubes for weeks. He says
You are everywhere. I say Thank you.
Ellie White holds an MFA from Old Dominion University. She writes poetry and nonfiction. She has won an Academy of American Poets Poetry Prize, and has been nominated for both Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Crab Fat, Up the Staircase Quarterly, The Columbia Review, Foundry and many other journals. Ellie’s chapbook, Requiem for a Doll, was released by ELJ Publications in June 2015. Her second chapbook is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press in 2019. Her first full-length collection is forthcoming from Unsolicited Press in 2019. She is a nonfiction and poetry editor at Four Ties Literary Review, and a social media editor and reader for Muzzle Magazine. Ellie currently rents a basement in downtown Charlottesville, Virginia.