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e x h i b i t - p o e m
Interval with Eratoby Scott Cairns That's what I like best about you, Erato sighed in bed, that's why you've become one of my favorites and why you will always be so. I grazed her ear with my tongue, held the salty lobe between my lips. of music already in her voice. So sing, , I said, and moved down to the tenderness at the edge of her jaw. Hmmm, she said, that's nice. Is there anything you don't like? I asked, genuinely meaning to please. I don't like poets in a hurry, she said, shifting so my lips would achieve the more dangerous divot of her throat. Ohhh, she said, as I pressed a little harder there. She held my face in both hands. And I hate when they get careless, especially when employing second-person address. She sat up, and my mouth fell to the tip of one breast. Yes, she said, you know how it can be -- they're writing "you did this" and "you did that" and I always assume, at first, that they mean me!, She slid one finger into my mouth to tease the nipple there. I mean it's disappointing enough to observe the lyric is addressed to someone else, and then, the poet spends half the poem spouting information the you -- if she or he were listening -- would have known already, ostensibly as well as, or better than, the speaker. I stopped to meet her eyes. I know just what you mean, I said. She leaned down to take a turn, working my chest with her mouth and hands, then sat back in open invitation. Darling, she said as I returned to the underside of her breast, have you noticed how many poets talk to themselves, about themselves? I drew one finger down the middle of her back. Maybe they fear no one else will hear or care. I sucked her belly, cupped her sopping vulva with my hand. My that's delicious, she said, lifting into me. Are all poets these days so lonely? She wove her fingers with mine so we could caress her there together. Not me, I said, and ran my slick hands back up to her breasts. I tongued her thighs. I said, I'm not lonely now. She rubbed my neck, No dear, and you shouldn't be. She clenched, Oh! a little early bonus, she said; I like surprises. Then, so few poets appreciate surprises, so many prefer to speak only what they, clearly, already know or think they know. If I were a poet... well, I wouldn't be be one at all if I hadn't found a way to get a little something for myself -- something new from every outing, no? Me neither, I said, if somewhat indistinctly. Oh! she said. Yes! she said, and tightened so I felt her pulse against my lips. She lay quiet for a moment, obviously thinking. Sweetie, she said, that's what I like best about you -- you pay attention, and you know how to listen when a girl feels like a little song. Let's see if we can't find a little something now, especially for you. | SUBSCRIBE | [ALL CONTENT © 1997-1998 hotink.com ] |
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