Verse Lace
for N.W.

incapable of a poem, am I capable of a poem
no other words or language, no other suitable response

unless you were with me, near me
where I could rip your panties off
unless you removed them sufficiently quickly

without you anywhere near, at my fingertips,
like lace and frills, like underwear, verse I write,
what I can imagine into being

need to repay you for daring, for joy
closest thing to intercourse since one Wednesday last year,

words you've written, mean them or just metaphors
a play on words

chords and strings of my heart, of my harp, you've plucked anyway

longed for long, to let into you, to get into you
what's long and without bone

limb I always knew you'd like, that night though not yet arrived

is it around the bend, bend in my manhood to fit how you're made
to fill your womanhood, your cup, your cut

hot dog sandwich, meat too much, more than enough
juices from it escaping, dripping, love feast, love finally

erotic poetry we trade in private, in public
in love, in marriage, in hell, in heaven

in what place ideal to enter you, open you
out pour V-8 or prune Juice, Soy Milk, our mango nectar

always thought you'd have learned, gleaned by osmosis,
membrane alone separating us

what if nothing at all was and we went at it rough
horsey back, piggy back

why we never got as close as we could have, should have
who to blame, is no one to blame

world spinning, a waiter's tray on a waiter's finger

on my dick, I spinning you, you spinning me
would have been utopia, euphoria

engaged in intercourse, squall of rain falling upon my house roof,
water curtains about our lovemaking, blessing a moment,

so close to coming, never did, has not yet
wanted to bet on you, wet in you

sweat of yours, of mine, bathe us while we labor,
we together, slaves of love

naked asses, freedom fucking, freedom fighters,
fuck until you were liberated

we together ululating


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
26.10.09