- Non-Erotic Poetry
- the swing
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you are standing outside a room
suddenly
without warning blinds open to play,
your fascination with brown eyes
slips into your left breast pocket
heaving
no serum can help,
no squad of marching fire fighters,
an organ joins the contents of your
heaving
needing trimming, weed eating,
the terrain about the hexagram
swims with weasel flesh
interested in your snowy ankles
kick out to rise, escape,
tuck under to trace the arc back
loose skirts were made for swinging
thighs acquire wind
