Sitting down, notebook in hand—
I attempt to put words
to what I’m feeling.
But instead of words flowing from my pen,
I feel my breath flowing through me.
The movement of my breath
is like a million light switches turning on—
bringing awareness to my body,
my senses, and to the life within and around me.
I continue breathing.
My breath makes its way into my limbs,
my lips, and each strand of hair on my head.
Noticing movement between my legs,
I realize that my vulva is swelling with every breath I take,
as if the air I breathe is a lover filling me up.
Breath is pleasure?
Or pleasure is breath?
In this moment, I can’t distinguish between the two.
My jeans push back against this swelling—
and frustrated by the resistance,
I take them off…
And continue breathing.
Lying down now,
I feel warmth trickling out of me.
I’m wet from this pleasure breath,
and the wetness is moving,
like a curious lover,
along the folds and valleys of my inner thighs—
wondering what more there is to discover.
I feel its every subtle movement,
and I wonder then if
it’s moving on me or if
I’m actually moving
I keep breathing…
And am caught off guard by the sounds
carried on my breath—
deep embodied sounds and
The vibrations from these sounds
intensify my pleasure,
and my hips begin to gently rotate.
I am dancing…
with my breath, to the music of my pleasure.
Hands still at my sides,
I continue to breathe this pleasure poem
well into the night,
Never touching my notebook at all.
Author: Natasha Salaash
Image: Unsplash/David Cohen
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Copy editor: Callie Rushton
Social editor: Callie Rushton