PREENING
The sky is red and comes
from Montreal--
you lied to me
the hemlock of the wind
is not this January's
but is ringed with
steel laughter of
another winter.
I saw you wringing sweat
from the eyes of the road,
lie down take the season's
wetness in your mouth,
push apart moist dampness
'til one cavity was
felled and another opened
[35]
CHANCE UPON
As she's lying there in sherbet panties
looking somewhat disaffected, a nez perce
expression bordered by sleep,
think of the Sultan's regalia
his entourage of kings
chance upon dark laughter from Saladein's[1] concubines,
Nell's[2] white turn of the knee
or the pretty bosom of a Confederate
officer's belle . . . all satin & lace ...
perhaps, again, the splendid neck
of Titian's choicest nude.
To further turn the phrase,
ponder a basket of fruit--
the sexual omnipotence
of its texture a dreamy sensuality
thickened by red Emperor grapes
ripened against the elongated nails
of a Pompadour's[3] milk white hand.
[1] Richard the Lion Hearted's adversary
[2] The Merrie Monarch's favourite mistress
[3] Louis xv's courtesan and adviser
[36]