I held a woman, lovely with her clit
when meadowlarks sang, it would sing back at them;
umph, when she groaned, she groaned the groan of a million sirens loving cock:
the infinity of sounds only a radio can contain!
Of her wantoness only demons should speak,
or misogynist rappers growing up on the street
(I’d have them harmonize speech to speech).

So excellent she performed her intent! She blew on my sack,
She taught me Moan, and Lose-Your-Mind moan, and shutter;
She taught me Taste, and the beauty of musty rose petals;
I stroked shyly her offered hair;
She was the sun; I, ignorant I, the moon,
Doing as she asked, settling into a spoon
(An unheard of constellation did we bloom).

Lust loves to meander, and dies for the loose:
Her pink lips opened, the unthought of words she did speak;
She blurted it out, her words felt like a noose
But despite this, I became red in the cheeks;
Her words could convey a calm repose,
Or a frightened utterance that only death knows
(She spoke in miracles, and her miracles moved).

I tell God she meant no more than a shadow.
But who counts forever by God’s days?
When I think of her, I believe in our ways:
(I measure my life by the way that she lays).

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