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Image for the poem lay with me in secret

lay with me in secret


two more drinks & Iíll be in her lonely bed
to reckon the paradox of my sorrow
the love I have. †& have not

her name is limbic on my lips, so I call her baby
to cast her in the lineup of my farewell lovers
their names never written on stars, if I forget

but when I look at the languid air, I see her face, pallid
a little sleepy & pretty, in the dark, tangled nest of her hair
eyes the color of Panzer clouds, under brows not quite tamed

I call her woman, raw & naked & beautiful
when I come down from the metaphors of art †Ė
sex is her tattoo; she was made to be touched

we are sinners chased from the Garden, surrendered to passion
itís in the French kiss that steals our temperance
itís in the rain that never comes

she gave me the last of her heart, & sequesters the fragments of mine
she wonít submit to other men who crave her
and sheíll never understand why I canít love herÖ


(Art: Heinrich Zille)

Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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