- Erotic Poetry
- Missing Something
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With days to prepare it is always the night before rush
that makes things get left behind.
Into a little black zip up pouch
go razors and paste. Some electronics and mementos
of touch with reality.
She is left behind on the wearing letters of my keyboard.
But her soft embrace is felt each morning regardless of distance
even in this strange place
with plaster eagles and plastic eagle's scream
on perch next to highway and flowage.
This morning her sinful talons dig
the tightly tucked covers of rental bed.
There is cause for flight.
She encourages gripping and diving for prey.
She delivers breakfast to my mouth.
Our nest is soaked.
Her feathered arms stroke.
Dear, you know it is your underside,
your soft, moist vulnerable spot
that I will attack. Devour. Gulp.
