Ripe, Organic and Edible
We’re not on the same page;
we are facing pages of a flaming
tale of feverish fornication.
Hours of flirtation were yum but
time for something deeper come.
Stirred by timorous touches, a long-
ing to lick as you’d like to be
licked, prick you as you long to be
pricked. We orbit each other, assess
each other’s assets, while imagining
cosy interiors with moist anticipation.
Let’s penetrate each other’s perimeters,
my lovable wonder, then mutual
surrender will be the lusty
Detail: the barely visible forest of fine
hair in the valley of her back. Flashing
weather report eyes. Fierce embraces,
fearful kisses and tears. Wholly giving
but demanding everything back with
interest. A whirlpool in the rain.
I’d lose myself in the barely penetrable
tangle of her hair. Wilderness. And her
lips! Dark cherries to be slowly devoured.
We would satisfy our hunger then founder
like a creature the sea casts forth that has
no grace on land.
Somehow I found myself enveloped in such
a love and can’t explain how that could be
anymore than I can explain the crashing sea
whose waves push then pull you into itself
to destroy or claim you. This is how it was,
although in her version I was the sea.
Originally from Saskatchewan, Allan Lake has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton, Ibiza, Tasmania & Melbourne. Poetry Collection: Sand in the Sole (Xlibris, 2014). Lake won Lost Tower Publications (UK) Comp 2017 & Melbourne Spoken Word Poetry Fest 2018 & publication in New Philosopher 2020. Chapbook (Ginninderra Press 2020) My Photos of Sicily.