He appears out of nowhere,
the beautiful man in an Italian
suit, shirt open in a sensual V.
His shoes, polished and preened.
His grin speaks of wanton
ways and sultry things.
His lips scream of even wilder play,
a body slow on chiffon pie and E-Z chairs.
Surely he’s the hero of her dream
(at least for a poem).
He sweeps her away with his
immaculate hands, up the stairs
the walls whisper of sin and lace
as he explores the stars and constellations
of her body. Heaven for a moment not
so far lost. The night opening
She endlessly loses herself
beneath his music. His spirit. Her spirit.
Reckless like a full mooned night,
where even the sky surrenders.
Paradise found in crumpled sheets on the floor
and the long dark dialogue of the flesh.
My cover of “Slave to Love” for Alex