Poems of Sensual Love
Life Without Her
I cringe to think of it;
surging into seas
of hypocrises, of
thing to do with reason,
the reason to do things
to show for show
and the long longing
for the convoluted volition of love
for she that drinks the seas
sees, drinks, or seasons the surging show,
and perfectly laughs.
A Lover's Stroll on a Windy Spring Day
through tremulous shrubbery
that flashes with damp glints in the breeze.
Calming warmth draws crowds tanning
to music, tinny in the distance.
She clutches hectic garments
blown full of life by
this Spring's first wind to cool, not chill
wakes her nipples up, which
poke through cloth; her
slip peeks past
a hyperactive skirt. I almost
laugh; she may see my shirt
caress my chest nonchalant
before her gaze through a gauzy veil
of brunette thrown forward
stuck to red lips that gasp
the climb's effort.
She knows my pants run invisible
fingers of air down my legs,
shares this tacit pleasure;
her clothes flutter in
stuttering folds that cling
tight, stop motion flow, sensual
striptease that shows and doesn't show-
not like the Buddha-sunbathers flat
naked on new grass, oiled smooth.
Is that null depression or pleasure?
Better not to know; better
to make love to the wind with her
in subtle menage.