by Deanna Ogle

I wish I could tell her what I’m feeling.

I don’t want to be in this bright restaurant across the table from her. I want to be in her living room with only half the lights on. Two empty wine bottles are on the coffee table and we’re sitting on the floor, laughing too hard, with red cheeks.  

I want to put my hand on her thigh when she says something funny. I want to lean in close and whisper: I want to make you a goddess under a Venus transit.

Deanna Ogle is a queer Michigan writer, feminist, and lover of humanity. Her interests include: rum, culture, the divine feminine, and where they intersect.