Why not find a bar full of people in the night?
Though I have little money, you own all I have,
my wife. Be my love from here to the grave.
Under the full moon, your eyes are stars, cheekbones clouds
that do not move, your face a bright nocturnal sun.
When you are naked, I am naked, no matter
comets return, meteors skid across the sky,
black holes disappear . . .
Take me then, I’m ready, even wearing a bra.
I’ve donned a blouse, pulled on my panties, stepped
into a skirt. Help me buckle my sandals' straps
and guide these lightly shod feet down the stairs.
Let us smile, say goodnight to the desk clerk.
Open the door, gentle man, guide my arm
into the street, and with my hand in yours,
kiss me, embrace me, pull me close
and repeat with my lips the code
we share each time the light grows dark.
There, Paula. See the bar with the Dutch doors?
Want to dance, hear music? No better way
to know a place. Even a juke tells more
than raucous clientele. If there’s a clarinet
in the house, let me play for you a song
you choose. Why not some blues, then a familiar song
improvised until attaining love’s sound . . .
C. C. Rider, say, followed by Body and Soul . . .
Body and Soul makes me sad,
why not Someone to Watch over Me?
Don’t drink. I want you with me
the way you were when we met,
when I discarded the leftover trappings
of a derelict life I followed to the edge,
where you were. You took my hand, led me back
to the beginning, where I came from
and will no longer leave without you . . .
I love Dutch doors, Bobby, they’re easy to go through.
Sugar lady with such a sweet taste
inside the soft lines of your lips,
when I drink your nectar I don’t want to go back
to the hive but take you where
my body makes yours sleek,
resting my head in the soft nest of my belly,
where you let me roam with my tongue
your South. I reach your thighs, arise,
pour my need into you, lie back with you . . .
Now may our feet find the way through swinging Dutch doors.
(14 June, 3 July 2012)
copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander