- Erotic Poetry
- When the Wine Keeps Time
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I’ve been paid for poetry
In glances
In smiles of co-conspirators downtown
In truck stop coffee, diner grits, and biscuits
In bumps of coke and tokes out by the stairs
In the attention of women and college boys
The twinkie ones
That tongue my asshole like sacred flesh
The middle aged, married, school teachers and writerly companions
That have taken my load across their holy Sephora faces
All that road-sex fucking ever was, was fucking
And the fucking rolled like ink across the page
Across the page and into canyons
Canyons of the wonderful and terrible at night with no regrets
Yet, the fucking has never filled or fulfilled me
Like the way your eyes shine
When words are our air
and only wine
keeps time
