Wet

[Jerrybaldy]

Should a rose sit trembling between your thighs?
Should I bleed your heart to moisten?
Should blue birds watch as we grind?

Tell how you need me,
as I waddle to the sink, with a wink
and a spiral windmill.

I would surely die for you.
Here my love, the softest tissue.
Bags me the dry side.

Postscript for my perfect.
All is arid as an auburn leaf
that floats to green glass stones.

[Bar22do]

a perfect "significant other", isn't it... ah. Your closing lines:

All is arid as an auburn leaf
that floats to green glass stones.

sum up so beautifully.

Best to you,

Bar

[Haunted]

Erotica meets romance. For me it climaxes with "I would surely die for you." But somehow "Postscript" and the antithesis in the word "arid" make me think perhaps this is love, unrequited. But I hope I'm wrong because the poem just sounds and feels lovely.

[AuntShecky]

Though not in iambic pentameter, this one begins exactly like a Renaissance or 17th c.courtly love poem until we come to the word "grind" with its contemporary slang meaning. That's fine-- Donne and company used the latest ribald expressions of their own time, double entendres and all. . .

So this was racy and romantic at the same time, a neat feat. No comprende a couple of lines, but that's just yer clueless, out-of-it auntie. What the hey is a "spiral windmill"-- a dance move?