erotica
if i made love to a poet
would the sight of my silhouette
a shadow slithering out of an ensemble
like a snake shedding its skin
get his
creative
juices flowing
would he stroke me with his left hand
and jot down notes with his right
too busy trying to figure out
an elusive metaphor for my brown skin
while i wait for him to finish
in heightened anticipation
would he hold me tightly and kiss me
would thoughts of turning this moment
into intricate iambic pentameter
make his manhood rise like the eastern sun
and when he melted into the mold of me and i
moaned a melody of ecstasy
would he stop to make a mental note
of how to turn my bellows into a ballad
and when our bodies were depleted
and i put my head on his chest
would he hold me close to his heart
until i fell asleep to his irregular rhythm
or would he push me aside
to open his mac
and attack the keyboard
before my naked, natural scent
leaves his sweaty skin
and he loses his train of thought
he'd be damned
a perfectly good poem evaporating
and out of reach
would he make me climax
because he loves the sound i make
or would he make love to me
for art's sake?
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