Nobel Aphrodisiac
I landed and you announced, “Munro’s won
The Nobel,” and we kissed and clinked Champagne,
And I wanted more kisses, more Champagne,
And off we went, from airport to hotel
As dusk darkened. Next, your striptease, wanton,
Brought to life The Lives of Girls and Women
In paperback style: You sprawled “akimbo,”
And lisped, lusty, “I feel like an orgy.”
We hadn’t yet taken stock of Stockholm
Or scanned the T.V. news for Munro’s face,
For my face was surfacing at your thighs—
Or yours was surfing upon mine—with classic,
Swedish panache, mirroring Seventies’
Porn flicks, as we fucked, applauding Munro.
Grandiosity
Grandiose is Ecstasy, mirroring
The Arrogance of hurricanes. Our voices
Surge in our merged Labour that’s Surgery.
I’m pitiless as a spear. You yield flesh.
We transform even suburban boudoirs
Into an Olympic village, where Zest
Breeds slapstick gymnastics, and we become
As malleable as roller coasters.
A “plain maid”? That’s not you. Thus, our bodies
Draft a torrid salmagundi, I mean,
A machina carnis, steaming Pleasure.
Our compliance with Lust isn’t grudging.
We even tolerate the small rupture
That’s Climax—trumpets rearing like cobras…
No Other
A thousand other poets wouldn’t see—
Perhaps—your copper hair and sea-blue eyes.
I’m different: “Other than.” Your rouge tresses
Serve my poems—as do your suitable eyes.
I see you as sugar ministering
To my pepper, sweetening white my sheets—
And black-inked sheets. May’s blossoms incarnate,
You light my April muck’s dark imagery.
Was Beauty born when you were born? Or Love
Only? Needed I years to learn to love.
Yet, my eyes spied your beauty right away,
Among rain-taste grapes and vintage lemons,
Your undammed perfume damning me to Lust’s
Satanic realm, until you saw me plain.
