by Geraldine King
Your lips taste sweeter than ziisabaakwadwaboo in the dead of winter
Your taste drips down my throat just like the sap that envelops the tree
Leaving me sticky, and warm and craving for more
I know I cannot want you, but that doesn’t stop me from having you
Our bodies wrestling down to the earth likes leaves fallen from the heavens
I don’t believe in God, but that doesn’t stop me from screaming his name
In pleasure, in sin, in disbelief, in ecstasy, in decadence, in lust
But not in love
Because once the winter is gone so is your sweetness
And I wait all year to savour you again.
 Maple syrup
Geraldine King is Anishinaabekwe from Kiashke Zaaging Anishinaabek (Gull Bay First Nation). Geraldine is a Master’s student in the Indigenous Governance Program at the University of Victoria where her primary research interests are centred on Indigenous erotica as viable resurgent governance praxis. Geraldine is the Managing Editor of Intercontinental Cry Magazine, a publication of the Centre for World Indigenous Studies.