Enid: Psoriasis by Sarah Maguire.


I read (and have written) quite a lot of erotica and something that often works for me is a snippet of the mundane and/or the grotesque among the glamorous and the sensual.

This poem is a perfect example of this, the “dark sheets…foxed with my dead skin,” and the bleeding knees….just yes. Even if I didn’t have quite severe flare-ups of eczema, I would still find this poem hot as hell.

It has a gorgeous sense of restlessness to it, from the “fretting” of the water to the loose circling of her ankle. I love being fucked. I always have a moment of impatience, followed by the bone-deep satisfaction of being filled up for the first time. For me, this poem perfectly evokes that feeling, and the feeling of lazy-Sunday fucking with the person you love.

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