The Poet

She speaks the words I long to hear,
Each utterance, in turn, caressing my mind,
Heating my body as they wash over me,
Dropping from rose petal lips that wear
The knowing smile of a lover well versed
In the response her words, her touch can bring.
And as she declares each sobriquet
I am caught, transfixed and laid bare before her;
Ripe for the taking.
Every fiber of my being thrums hotly against
The molten tower of her words,
Echoing in my mind,
Reverberating in a wild tempo
At the base of my belly.
Thoughts and feelings course
Through my brain, ebbing and flowing:
Two bodies moving together within damp sheets;
Skin glistening as cry after cry is wrung
Tenderly, patiently, ardently from each lover.
As the poet quietly closes her book
And looks down at me
She knows;
My lust barely sheathed within
The loose confines of my adoration.
And once more I am claimed
By the power of words.

June 21, 1999

For Chrystos

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