- Erotic Poetry
- King and Queen
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It was like floating in a warm pond,
drifting on the fingertips
of a pale, slow current.
Tenderly she mixes the eggs,
enough for two.
Quietly she stands at the stove, her housecoat
gathered around her
as tightly as a mood.
It had felt like voices
through a grove of poplar trees, the leaves
autumn amber.
She takes down a plate to feed me
with a grace as intimate
as the inside of warm porcelain cups.
Tendrils of silence
argue against the weight of smoke
where the glitter of beams of bitter moonlight
spall, falling like unfamiliar noises
in an upstairs room.
The kitchen vibrates
from the rotation of the Earth.
The rising sun re-murmurs
her dull evening mantra
uttered a moment before the curtains
were were drawn back.
"Open me," she said. "Open me."
She showed me how and then I did.
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