- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Across a chair
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So there she is, supine across a chair
Echoing the black and gold in her hair.
Open to all, it looks, her smile one for the books.
Hair spilt like a waterfall to the floor,
Legs curled to push up against the pull
Of time and space and all things that hold us in place.
There she is, a queen, a witch, a woman
Lying in wait: Her eyes as arrows aimed
Her breath measured and precise.
Think you that she is relaxed?
Perhaps, perhaps. But perhaps
She is just the lure and the trap
Waiting to spring on the poem
That is you, walking past
So enamored and unaware.
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