by Theresa Edwards
(05/09/07)
With Guilt
she made love to her husband last night closed her eyes
felt his rhythm fluttering, tongue flickering against
sweet familiar spots to him unfamiliar to the man
she saw in the dark of her mind
she sighed, mouth opening to the thought of the man's
tapered body inching up her stomach, his dark, soft hairs
dance below his belly button, sweat above her flow
oh yes she let him
enter, a stranger to her body, man with alluring skin,
his arms tell stories in colors: tattoos of skulls, women, and trees,
roots stretching down his long fingers yes
do it like a lover
touching lips for the first time yes like a swimmer
taking air for the first time do it,
pressing her mons pubis, lightly stroking within,
delicately touching the bottom of her sea
she gave it to him like a new wife anxious, energetic,
insatiable she gave it to him like an old wife
starved, ashamed of ecstasy in dark places,
carefully handing her thoughts over to no one.
D.J.E.
You turn a corner of my soul,
a weathered page,
although you'd rather finger my body--
smooth against your hardened male.
Beneath your stone exterior, solid form of the masculine,
you thought to water my plants
when I couldn't--
because of a story in one of my poems.
Our car ride to Maine--
clear raindrops. Speed against gravity.
You play our wedding songs,
your stern, green eyes perform the romantic.
You turn a corner of my soul,
maneuver my idiosyncrasies like an echo's folded timbre
although you'd rather meander my nipples--
unyielding along the corners of your mouth.
Beneath my scent, light mix of Ivory soap and rose,
I sail wanting:
when bodies become words
strong like stone an undying stimulus.
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux