In a Spacious Chamber




She pressed herself against him.

She was close.

She was a car empty and waiting

its own arrival. A kiss

in the curve. Of course he was the father



of her fantasy of after school encounters

in a cloakroom. A pleated skirt raised

to expose a petite derriere. A wee test

of the trusty taboo, of hard-

ly said what she wanted and had it. She wanted it



to go on and on and it did.

He was the date on the clock

that clattered in the corner, the sprang alarm

of a dim conscience quieted with a hush and: Here?

Yes, there. And where was his other



beloved? Out overlooking a bay

and a bridge and wouldn't be back

for ever so long. And she? Hers was halfway

round a world that was spun nearly out of control

due to a latebreaky lateral planetary shift



that was occurring right where they lay —

on a sheet of cotton so fine it might melt into day

but it didn't.

Real and slow and so lasting

as long as she wished it.



A bare little cry parsed from the parting of lips.

The barter of a mouth bent to an ear.

She was telling such tales.

She was the night nurse

turning off the low lamp and kissing his neck.



Next the promising doctor, in love

with the intransigent X of his wrists

as she tied them.

A languor of kisses

then a long sip of sex that came



played in the foreground of a film that was framed

by two minds poised at the point of departure.

Here? Yes, there. His hand hard

on and in while she was the patience of skin

becoming the picture of having.