Poetry Thursday

since my ride is running late (see message below) I'm posting this ol' thang- about sex. There may be a later (better) version, but this is what I found first- It was published in the Melic Review

Sex with Martha Stewart

is white paint on hospital walls,
sterile, silent, no distinction
between corners or ceilings depth,
indeterminate distance, all’s well
in the openness of a waiting room.

First kiss perfunctory, patient.
Lip-to-lip, eyes open, strange
arms in proper places-
cotillion and Arthur Murray
taught us this: observe the form.

Draw back, unbutton her crisp shirt,
slip linen skirt slowly to the floor, reveal
white lace lingerie, soft, sensible,
she stands before you, shoes and silk.
You want her now, like this, quiet,

waiting for direction, lilac-scented.
Place your hand over her heart, feel
her skin warm to your touch, lead her
to your room, if you ask, she will
undress you, slowly: instruct her.

Go by the book, one she didn’t write,
lay her on the bed with shoes still on,
disarm her, sit across the room,
naked, not speaking, not responding,
observe her face and gestures.

She will do what you wish, you have
aroused her by inattention, misdirection.
She is not virginal, nor are you,
there may be things she can teach you.

Above all, do not remove her shoes.