by Magi Schwartz
(09/20/06)

Lesson #3

There are tuxedoed men with blackjack manners.
Their voices smoke softly, haltingly,
like Bogey's laconic gun. Their words
are hard, shiny, volatile as bullets.

Nicotine breath exhales lurid yellow desires.
They swagger through search and destroy nights.
But their money-fists are too tight,
their passion like paper. Power is a potent
illusion that reeks like low grade fuel.

They like women in pale dresses
cut out of the room's dark, who
answer in voices silky with cognac.
Beneath Madonna smiles, they handle
these men with steel knives sheathed in velvet gloves.
Even in bed, they can never turn their backs.

Getting it Straight

I long for the weight and power of your body,
the shape of your breath on my back;
even for the impatience of morning
when you pretend not to know me.

You long for the frenzied taking of peach flesh
in the blind eye of night, Even in the gimlet
wink of morning, in your non-recognition,
and emotional denial, you cannot
resist the desire to know me again and again.

Prisoner Exchange

A picture to ease the strain of imagining,
my voice to drip honey in your ear.
The paper doll I've been between you
and your mattress is a centerfold fantasy.

You want flesh, a handful of ass,
a mouthful of tit. Your teeth need
to sink into the beauty of pain.

In violation of the rules, you exposed
your mystery by sending a photo.
A giant muscled in anger, the dark side
of desire shadows you. White pants
bulge innocent camouflage of hard wickedness.

I never tire of your letters.
Reading them makes me tremble.
I trace the cursive sex with my tongue;
pray to God this correspondence is enough.

Perseid's Witness

One night,
when dog days howl at the full moon,
stars are unpinned from the heavens,
cascade towards earth, like a woman
shaking her hair free from its combs.

Rhinestones fall from the sky
soundlessly into the lap of the world.
Celestial beauty brushes the heart. Nature
draws a deep, clean breath.

The full moon casts its shadow.
Its golden tongue licks to silver
the furrows of the lake, like a lover
probing the slick channel of a woman's ass.

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