by Elise M. McHugh
(06/10/04)
I like the stars better this way--
my face pressed against the console,
his breath behind and above me,
not pushing against my neck
like some horny teenager
with a condom in his wallet
and Led Zeppelin on the radio.
I spread my legs
until they swallow his thigh.
The Dodge rocks
as he presses into me.
When I look up
I see the stars
outside the windshield.
My breath creates new galaxies,
tiny Milky Ways, and I wonder
if there's life anywhere in them.
Doggie Style
Baby, bring your mastiff out to play.
Saluting half-mast in your jeans
he begs for midnight mass--
me, a bare-assed priestess pressing my lips to your throat
while you unlock his cage.
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux