If you haven’t picked up a copy of Don’t Be Shy, Volume 1 by Ylva Publishing, you’re missing out on 12 erotic tales of lesbian desire (including one written by me, hoooray!)
My humble little story is in great company–well-respected F/F authors have contributed and the reviews so far on Amazon and GR are awesome! Thanks to all who have read and reviewed or just read the anthology. If you were thinking about adding this to your TBR shelf, or just picking up a copy to heat up your summer reading list, the eBook version is available now and print will be available in August. Like lady-lady love? Poetry? Coffee? Here’s a teaser excerpt from Slammin’ Sunday. Hope you enjoy!!
Slammin’ Sunday by Annie Anthony:
published April 2015, Ylva Publishing
“This is an original poem I wrote a while back,” I said. “It’s called Closeness.”
I drew in a breath and paused. Years ago, the poem had been a way to vent the loss of an ex who I’d known wouldn’t stay. In that coffee shop, my voice tripped with emotions as vivid as they’d been when I felt her absence in sheets that felt cold even when she slept beside me.
Snow is falling sagging the arms of tired pines.
We are curled together beneath covers, a cashew,
my ecstatic saliva swirling on the whorl of your breast.
Copper owls tinkle with the flurrying winds,
regret collects in corners, muddies, hardens.
Eyes close, disembodied lamps, the poof of soot from a candle.
Between us, desire like white embers the taste of unwashed carrots.
The room is overtaken by the red-dial hour.
We awaken beneath blue soap.
Unfamiliar sheets, impressionable down
traces of cork in your mouth.
Glass fruit at the bedside is cold to the touch.
I whisper how long I’ve wanted this.
You listen, holding snow in your ear.
With those eyes on me and so many ears tuned to my voice, I felt the way I imagined Dennie must have during a performance. Singing allowed her to make an offering of herself to others in a way I felt I now understood. Her lyrics and my lines touched strangers with the sudden intimacy of a first kiss. The café was quiet. Even though I hadn’t been reading, I closed my notebook to convey that I was finished.
Then, the ‘I hope she’s flirting’ woman gave a loud, “Yeah!” With that, applause barked off dozens and dozens of palms. I blushed. Purple Hair took my spoon and handed me a free coffee.
The slam ended after the fourteenth poet and Purple Hair drew for the gift card. The winner—the half-singing, half-rapping girl—screeched and her friends thundered to the counter. I gathered up my messenger bag, notebook, and my full, free coffee. I had to pee and the thought of wading through the crowd to the single-stall bathroom appealed as much as dancing through a pit of snakes. I always carry the key card to my office, and security on the weekends was light. I could definitely hold it.
I was almost to the door when the woman from the floor cushion touched my arm. “Hey.” She was quite a bit taller than me. She wore a thin, white tank top and faded black skinny jeans.
“Hey,” I said. “Are you, um, getting out of here?”
“I was planning on it, yeah.”
“Mind if I walk a bit with you? I promise, I’m not a psycho. I just really loved your poem.”
I scanned her face, as if crazy were as obvious as a mole or a unibrow. Her smile accentuated the space between her teeth in a way that charmed me. Her cheeks were flushed, and a star scatter of freckles drew me into her warm, welcoming orbit. I held the door open for her. “Let’s go.”
Don’t Be Shy is available now on Amazon: