How Poetry

This full moon night in August
Like a moth drawn to a street light
I swoon over you
Be my lamp post tonight or burn me
My legs tremble, my knees buckle
my door is off the hinges
I wait here behind a beaded curtain
A kiss would not offend me
Come closer that I may smell you
Is it your cologne that spins me
or the crickets and the frog songs
in the thicket

You smoke my expectations with smoldering timber
Can we survive the tremors till September?
An early frost would be really yippee
to the blaze in our groin and loins
oh, to be cozy by a fireplace to vary a bit the intercourse
an October blanket over our legs
a cup of wine, the kisses mild, the caresses barely
reprieve at last from summer's swelter
Could this three alarm fire we that has hit us
is the pepperoni pizza we just finished?

Oh, my Sweetness, what will be of us?
So many hayrides before it snows
like now, my breath heaves to and fro
as me breast strokes rip tides out the window,
and please do serve yourself to my knishes
but listen, will you, to what the green skin things croak
in gasps of conjoined exasperation in yonder swamp
listen, that you may interpret to the decibel:

Our fingers march like troop of minstrel singers
to castle ramparts in forest dark
Ought I be more explicit?
Let acupressure tell the rest
as if the rest need be told
Hold fast, from here on the ride gets rough

Frankly, all this preoccupation with sex is stupid
but absent it, would any egg get laid
As it is, it's mostly accidental
Let us have a family, by mutual consent
By and by, let's go for tribe

I ask you not blush, but suspect already
you're going through 12 shades from pink to red
my beau from Kiev, I your Chomsky Village bride
In America we landed 5 years ago,
requesting asylum five years this day
twice we married that same year
once in a LA chapel...
second time, a woman rabbi said, go have some fun
And here we are back in Brooklyn where we stated
green cards newly issued. Happy birthday, Irving
may we live to be a hundred plus
and never live to regret it