by Anthony Guilbert
(01/23/08)
Soup
The only details you need to know
are that the soup was twelve dollars a bowl
and we were in the
Hamptons.
--So we were eating soup, a warm earthy
butternut, with hints of
nutmeg & clover.
We talked food and lingered in deep delight
trying to
taste out the ingredients.
It was an innocent request, jokingly even
I dared her to drink from the bowl
and when her lips christened the
rim
wrapped the pale edge like a dark Japanese silk,
a howl overtook my
senses, but
didn't leave my mouth.
She held the bowl like the belly of the
moon
drawing soup down with her throat.
When her lips pulled from the
edge
a honeyed-rose drunk on autumn ecstasy,
her tongue's coral fringes
caught the last drop!
"Oh jeezus" I felt shy and flustered and
luckily
it was too dark to see I was blushing.
Next a curious little girl
expression lit her face.
She ran her finger around the moist edge
moving deeper into the bowl.
Her lips hurried down and
licked the soup from
her finger.
I was afraid to breathe, never aware
women admitted
knowing such pleasures.
Ocean Lotus
Ocean wind fans the night
mouths the
Kashmir tents.
In the blind-gut of the storm
--passion coils:
she wakes
to remind me
desire was the first emotion
to arise in the
universe.
My feet oiled with spikenard,
she rides cowgirl style, throwing hair
and
kissing over the shoulder.
Somehow, the shape of her lips
makes my
tongue seem longer.
Hunting for nipples, half-hardened
I squeeze, feel her
moan against my cheek
palms swirl, cradle wind
rhythm takes over for
language
pounding heart and hip
against the web of space.
Soft and
suggestive
the world sings its primal vows
heaves against the storm
and we
are caught lurching into light!
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux