- Erotic Poetry
- Love/ Precipitation/ Noun
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You would not like the clouds here
or the damp.
Almost no one does.
It's reason why, though, my world is green—
wet as an aquarium
and never almost hot.
I lived one long year
in too much sun. I danced
and danced in its stormwater flood.
Yet would I hit on you like a hailstorm
of furious ice
pounding roof and grass and ground
given the isobars were right
and however your welcoming inclination
wanted my poor water, anywhere.
- COMMENTS
unpredictablebijouover 15 years agomake me want to print out a sheaf of your work and carry it around for whenever I want to seduce someone.
lindianaalmost 16 years agoGiving us something to incite our senses. Excellent!
bluebellalmost 16 years agoThere are some poems of yours where I have the distinct impression of knowing you've built them. Built them with your hands, invested the energy and loose poetic ends of your mind. Plank by plank. It looks effortless at posting when we're allowed to sink our teeth in, but there must have been assiduous construction. I can almost feel the residue afterwards as I read them. They continue to do the heavy lifting, even after you've allowed them their freedom. Thank you for sharing.
