Milkmaid

As the dutch of her loving

held him tight

on the starry quilt, they

climbed silk stories

to the chamber of coming

where endorphins swarmed,

sidling their cryptic coded

calls from cell to cell.

As they lay together after,

his forefinger modeled

her fair strong cheekbones

and she took his finger

into her mouth, sucking it

carefully, teasing its tip.

Tickle the trembling skin

of an arm or a leg

and even the little

skin hairs keep on coming.

He understood her charity

and dominion. He felt

like a fish flapping

on a boat's deck, and gasped

to the pretty stranger,

"I almost want to say that

I love-" She shook her head

fiercely and burst out:

"But it would be a lie!"

He admired her resolve,

her redeeming conviction

that rapture was trivial

as she laughed all night

like a milkmaid in a meadow,

petticoats flung upward.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jan/Feb 2002
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved