by Tim McGovern
(09/13/06)

Sacrament

What power I held
when placing a kiss
on her knee would part her thighs,
releasing a bazaar of perfumes and warmth
from her shorn skin,
mother of pearl luster
in droplets that beg to be
indulged.

Cupping her like the grail
I'd bring her to my lips
and savor the body,
while she cried out
the forbidden name of god.

Imitation of Art

How would I create you?
not through words,
the knife edge corners
of practiced syllables could not express
the toothsome swell of your hips,
the fine baby hair
in a ray of indecent sunlight
that becomes a field of spun straw,
Rumpelstiltskin's meadow
across your navel.

Nor paint,
with it's mix and match approximations.
There is no color
called kiss,
where your lips stick, ever so lightly, as though
your bodies fight against separation.
No color that captures
the stillness
of you tracing a finger across my lips,
and the world comes screaming in
to that pinpoint contact
and waits for your next move.

I would sculpt you in marble,
cool and seemingly impervious
to time and age,
a body to be admired and studied
and worshiped.

But I would fill the statue
with a million tears
and
like you,
hope no one broke the shell.

Dark Plum

Dyed by sunset,
surrounded by recent ripples
of twisted white.

One leg bent.
Half an invitation?
The knee lava orange.

Your left side stretched
toward the window.
Stained glass breast.

But my eyes are fixed
on your sacred mound,
emerging from shadow.

With the last gasping light
smooth flesh is highlighted.
A moist dark plum.

Elizabeth dreams...

Where does she keep
those secret things?
cedar scented letters,
a laundry list
fetish longings,

tiny pieces of silk and satin
bought on a whim,
for a phantom lover
who arrives before dawn
but never finishes.

The luxurious desire
of being taken
wanton , shameless,
plunged into abandon
and loving it.
an animal.

She sees herself there,
open and baiting,
breathless,
oh the sin of it
the pure unrivaled sin of it..
makes her wet.

where does she hide these things?
among silver and stained glass
pewter, paintings
manicures and maid service.

Behind the pristine walls
of polite society
a beast longs to rut,
unapologetic,
naked,
in front of the world.

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