|Peter Martin – Figure #1, Greenwich Village Nudes,1951 ©|
her black cat on parade
she said she was Mary Magdalene
in a church pageant once
she made it seem
as if she didn't want to be seen
as coming on to me
but coy plays both ways
and I was more than
a willing participant
in this game
of chance and take...
I went from hoping to spy
a nugget or morsel
to masturbate with
to a slack wheel fisherman
with an ugly stick drop
of the line, letting currents feed
into her sense of mystery...
there was no history of entanglement
just the instantaneous chemical override
of enough wine dulling our common sense...
I was much older than she...
maybe she was into soon to be
museum pieces of interlude...
nude with grey chest hair
and dare I say
an invigorated sense of ribaldry...
yes my dear you can press my buttons
all that you want but first can you
crawl back across the room
pretending your life depends upon it...
curl your bottom lip and tilt your head
let your hips wander in a slow bit of,
I wonder what he wants to do to me first...