Alchemy

Cupped beneath you, my hand

collects your dew, smelling of

earth after Spring rain; of incense

burnt brusquely in a

bronze pot; of the deep sea

disturbed by the dark

pull of the Moon; of

blood seeping somewhere.

But your dark eyes reflect how

puzzled you are by

the alchemy of

your own body.

Take and Give

Who, exactly, “took” whom?

Did I take you when you

took me within you?

Did I take or did you give?

Did you take what I gave?

If it were willingly then

I am not sure who

took, who gave.

Hymning Sarah

Someone should hymn Sarah, of the

bounteous breasts and gentle smile:

Sarah, who could hold her own

drinking beer; who could make

Brownian Motion make sense in a

heathen’s mind; who had the

balls to take a

timid boy’s virginity; be

generous about those

first fumblings; could

laugh afterwards at the

misapprehension of the stains of

vigorous sex on

cheap pink sheets.

Someone should hymn Sarah,

kind ravisher of innocence, and

since it was I, it

should be me.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

You wanted to learn all those

alchemical tricks and I was

happy to teach what

magic the mouth can make when

abetted by deft hands—one

stroking, the other exploring the

netherlands—with lips

massaging, tongue dancing, and

most importantly those

deep dark eyes looking into mine as

diligence gets its reward.

Questions

Whose party is this? Who

invited her? Did they

specify costume? And what

makes this drink so

drinkable? Is it making her

horny? Or is it the sight of

that woman sucking that man?

Is someone touching her arse?

Going beneath her skirt? Is she

arching her  back to make herself

available? Is that really

advisable? Is she giving the

wrong signals?  Can she hear a

zip being undone? Was the

schoolgirl outfit perhaps

a mistake?

Geology Lesson

The spirits go up as the

gin goes down and you

waggle your bum in an

unsubtle invitation, chanting

“The mites go up and the

tights come down” until

they do.