- Erotic Poetry
- that first time
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what was it?
that one mysterious
thing that sets our
thing apart
from all
the other
things?
it wasn't his glasses
or how I left mine in the car
it wasn't how I lowered my eyes
down and nervously to the left
while his stared
unflinching
unnerving
it wasn't my
half-eaten salad
nor the tomato
left unripe on his plate
or the adolescent show
of needing his help
selecting wine
but the next morning
he told me
"go write a poem"
so I wrote a poem
and I searched
for meaning
in moments
that brought
us here
but really
it all comes
down to this:
as promised
his fingers
were long-
they turned dials
and pressed levers
breaking me down
until seven feet
above the banks
I flooded over
and over until
there was
nothing more, then
he demanded
more
squeezing my face
forbidding me
to close my eyes
or turn away
lost in the hypnosis
of Yes, Sir.
we pretend it is more
and maybe it is?
he did leave that tomato
on his plate
~
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