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A sexy poem

We have come to the end of questions, you run your palm, warm, large, dry, back along my face over and over, over and over, like God putting the finishing touches on, before sending me down to be born. Undressing, taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way she always does…. Japonica Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens, And to-day we have naming of parts. Enters — and is lost in Balms. This is the lower sling swivel. All night I feel their absence and I burn. Yesterday, We had daily cleaning. They call it easing the Spring. I see her every movement in my head…. Later, I wrote in a notebook it was like riding a swan into the night, but, of course, I cannot tell you everything — the way she closed her eyes to the orchard, how her hair tumbled free of its pins, how there were sudden dashes whenever we spoke. A sexy poem

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A sexy poem



A sexy poem



A sexy poem



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2 thoughts on “A sexy poem

  1. Around the door loose in its frame, and around the transom, the light from the hall burns in straight lines and casts up narrow beams on the ceiling, a figure throwing up its arms for joy. We can slide it Rapidly backwards and forwards:

  2. What I can tell you is it was terribly quiet in Amherst that Sabbath afternoon, nothing but a carriage passing the house, a fly buzzing in a windowpane. All day I think of her, resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk or taffeta, which gown tonight?

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