September 2022 – novamartinpoetry.com

Industrial Night

After the industrial music
at the gay dance club
the industrial dyke
took me
back to her loft.
The chains on her leather jacket
rattled with the city sounds
and the bells waiting in my mind
as we walked to her place and she
held my hand firmly.
She put hard music on
once we were inside.
Again, it was hard.
Her place was just off the Drag,
within siren song of the state Capitol.
She told me to
stand up against the brick wall,
facing towards the brick wall.
Then she told me to trust her
and her earthen perfume
kissed the soft skin of
my neck.
That was trust personified,
angelic being for a simple mortal,
a fissure in time.
She then ripped
my dress off
and instructed me to
“pop my ass up in the air”.
My perky tits and ass
found a purpose…
a purpose no woman, man,
or gender queer
had before ever given them.
She proceeded to do
things to me for hours
that I can’t really write about.
I felt ripe after, like a juiced fruit,
all my fluids everywhere,
spilled and drained.
It smelled like a festival of
pubescence;
springtime flowers,
scents of minerals and virginal
young women
spilled on the concrete floor…
and, and, and
her scent of leather.
All my karma and souls
now reset,
with the angels again in the
sunshine this morning.

These are new things here.
New things for the future.
A proper future,
a future
where the women of America
f@$k the absolute hell
out of each other in freedom
and security.
Where the women of America
have a chance at actually living.

Yes. USA! USA!

We’re coming.

Poems

Only Thing

The only thing I could do

to have her feel safe with me

was to have her be the “top”

often times.

Otherwise

the world, the feelings and

emotions

seemed all too much for her

in moments.

So I handed her the edges,

brought her to them,

took her near and above the abyss.

I’m honored to have been

that person for her,

that vulnerable and

delightfully feminine

woman.

I know she needed that.

She needs my ass, my laugh

and my moans.

We’re connected always.

I was there with her,

rushing into heaven

as she broke

a lot of her models

of oppression and shame.

She’s gone from me.

I’m gone from her.

But I’m glad she knows liberation

now

and that special Angel Land place

only two women can go.

Maybe we had an even

more special version of it?

A libertine & a perfectionist

caught

on the tumultuous earth.

Who’s to say?

Poems

All Come Down

When it finally all came down

I was in bed

feeling shitty on a

Saturday morning

after I’d said shitty things to you

the night before

and Fleetwood Mac’s

“As Long As You Follow”

came on the radio.

I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I realized you would not

follow me.

And you were never going to.

I’d spent the relationship trying

to get you to follow me into love

and the many vibrant colors of love

and when you didn’t so regularly

it angered me, it felt unjust.

And so it all hit me that morning;

we are over,

we will never be again,

we were never meant to

really be…

and I broke out bawling,

sobbing, uncontrollably,

the way a child cries,

deeply and forlorn, abandoned,

alone in the empty house,

the empty morning,

with just the sunlight and

the stillness

in the bed we used to make love

to each other, gasp to gasp.

The familiar loneliness of a transwoman

with a cisgender woman.

Except this time,

not only loneliness

but nothingness too.

Poems

Family Of Transition

The family of my transition
I will not grow old with.
I may likely know them
for a long time,
but they will not be family.
Though
on the walls of my home
I will still hang the artwork
their young daughters
gave me to celebrate my
ascending vibrancy in the world.
For one year,
one year alone,
they loved and accepted me,
they found joy, excitement, exuberation
in me being in the world,
and I consider that a great honor
to have had that effect on them,
to have
received their celebration.

They’ll find someone new in the future
to draw pictures for
and give Christmas gifts to,
to get cuddles before bedtime,
and my transgender transition
will continue
in its solitary and communal way
that no one can relate to,
yet everyone becomes a part of
its story.

The ghost voices of these young girls
will always give color to
my woman soul.
My woman soul will be colorful
thanks to the sparks of their love.

Poems

The Purse My Mama Bought Me

The purse my Mama
bought me,
I carry it like a teddy bear.
I’ve kept it for too long.
It’s actually uncool.
It’s not the greatest purse.
Wait, hold on there Nova,
let’s be fair and objective;
it is
pretty damn functional
and being black leather,
it is fairly versatile.
If I’m honest,
Mom did a pretty good job
picking out and giving me
my first purse
as a forty-five year old
now-woman.
I know some women
my age no longer have
their mom around
or they might not have
a great relationship with
their mom,
and well, my mom hasn’t been
exactly exemplary
as I’ve transitioned my gender,
but I do truly love, respect,
and admire her,
and she did give me a solid,
perfect first purse.
And so I cling to and keep up
with this bastard like it is
my favorite teddy bear.

Poems

The Water You Last Drank From

The water you last drank from
remains
by my bed.
I will leave it there
as I let go of you
over this next season of my life.
It will evaporate,
turn to air,
and travel very far from here
over the next million years.
And that was
always going to happen to us
as well.
Though it was quite miraculous
how the infinite configurations
placed us together in this
infinite ocean,
soul to soul,
body to body,
soft skin lain on soft skin
in morning sunshine,
vaporous breathing to the
heavens
where once upon a time
you had reached for
that water you last drank from
for the final time
in the aftermath of something,
something riveting, tumultuous,
healing, and laid bare for
the other to see.

I see now and look over at
what will be gone soon,
what will be gone as Autumn
and the hearth fires start up
again.

Poems

Pressed

Press me up against the wall
fair lady
femme dyke
I’m your power bottom
forming my wrists over
testosterone bones
industrial wasteland
I’m here now
watching the flowers blossom
Smell a sweet scent
across the field
Wait for that succulent nectar
I sculpt words for your hands
to hold
my cupped, bloomed ass
in that way that just does it
gets it done
revolutionizes my soul and breath
and brings the twilight
down upon our breasts
chest to chest
tongue to tongue
against the wall

When I was pressed I blossomed
When life began demanding
manhood of me
there was nothing left
Vanished and vacant
You rescued me and gave me soil

Poems

The Smell Of Pleasure

Because of the female
hormones
I take
my male-born genitalia
smell like
female genitalia.
Now I’m talking about
that pure kind of smell,
that carnal,
appetizing and enticing
kind of smell,
that woman flower,
the kind that makes you
want to lick, eat, savor,
breathlessly lost in the joy
of producing
soul-electrifying pleasure
for your girlfriend
on a morning when you
both have off work or
maybe on a morning
when you’re waiting
to go on vacation
without the kids
and you find yourselves
devouring the womanly
landscapes of each other.
That smell.
That earthen cream smell.

Just in case you were wondering.
Just in case you get any ideas.
Just in case you think
for a moment I might actually
be a woman.
Just in case you’re suddenly
turned on
and want to give me pleasure.
Just in case you’ve ever
desired women before.

I am here.

Poems

Ice Cream In Angel Land

In Angel Land,
sometimes we eat
ice cream in the morning.
And sometimes that is
after we’ve had
blissful, woman to woman
morning sex,
with soft skin and gaspy moans
melted into each other.
And sometimes
we eat ice cream
when we haven’t had
that blissful morning sex
but we wanted it,
so we take a deep, still moment
to savor the rich and sweet
cream instead.
Either way,
the ice cream in Angel Land,
on a sunny, rainy, or cloudy morning
is always
quite a delightful experience.