Since You Came Along (A Meta Poem)

i don’t write love poems.
ask anyone.
my work is full of bodies
wiggling against the tides
of lust, slippery skinned,
fin-boned, fine hairs brushed
off a pale moon face at
the stroke of midnight.

and jokes like that. overuse
of certain phrases turned
around corners. you came
to me in me on me.
just so. your big package.
this slow comfortable
screw. this grade A
prime beef. my perky
double entendres.

a real poet once,
having discovered i wrote
erotica said, oh so that’s
where the puns come

see? even now
i can’t resist fingering
the words into submission.

you’re probably wondering
where the flowers come in.
it’s from a joke about a vase.
you can feign surprise when i tell
you the humor turns on
a sexual pun.
and men in their prime.

i don’t write love poems.
ask anyone.
my heart just isn’t in it
the way your mouth is,
lips butter brushed along
my thigh, tongue trailing
hot-springed streams
until i begin to recite
poetry inside poetry
inside poetry. and you
never miss a beat.


Image taken with iPhone.
Words written in front of the fire with the snow coming down.
Time Taken 6 minutes. and now back to work. ack.
Brain on teaching, snow, fairy tales, the coming of spring.

This entry was published on March 13, 2012 at 2:02 pm and is filed under March, Poems, Seattle, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “[73]

  1. Pingback: Doodle 73 | Spring « DoodlePack

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