a female thing
by A. Lure
She’s a rack of lush/blush womanish knacks:
a fine jeweled spine
mined from too many men-caves,
a tongue she coils into a red-hot rose,
a lusty liver to break down men-bits.
She’s opium, an opening
of geranium petals,
her hair incense sticks,
her sex a bed of coals, a bowl of strawberries
she spoons to men-mouths,
a piano tune, desire’s notes & syllables — LI-BI-DO, LI-BI-DO.
oh slap rouge on your dawn-
fluffy-puffy-pillow-billow little one
oh how the corset cossets that torso
moon-swoon star-in-a-jar girl-child
let’s play Baby Erotica:
slurp milk of lotion
tap-tap your pretty jewels
cut out men from colored paper
and slip-slip inside the fleshy folds’ split
sip-sup-sip-sup its moistness girl-
#3 [for N.B.]
Fresh as steamed clothing, you
make love to the porch window and to the swirls
of fog it frames. We tarred that window
with our spraddling lust last night.
We blacked it. We blacked it coy.
A coyote yipped. You whipped
the milkiness of my breasts. I sieved
your flesh as ash. Then I clicked off
the tiny red lights percolating the length of you.
You lidded the raspberry jam of my sex in a jar
and placed it on the table facing me and now you pine
for the fog behind the window, the fog
that in turn pines for a mirror, a face,
a pair of blue-inked eyes to blindfold.
©2013 by A. Lure
A. Lure enjoys poetry/erotica/apparel design/antiques/traveling/art collecting.