How do the methodical make love?
Do they peel off their clothes
In separate corners, before
Slipping under the sheets and
Turning off the bedside light?
Do you like the woman to lie there,
To pump her between kisses until
She asks you to do it from behind?
I always pictured us in an alley,
Seduced by a discarded mattress,
The sadness of which turned to joy,
As you pushed me down on
Its faded striped ticking and
Pressed your mouth against mine.
To stain the stained mattress, to
Dirty the sullied, to feel its broken
Springs beneath me and you on top;
That is the way I want you to take me,
In haste, with fingers fumbling zippers,
And the real taste of your warm breath
Delivering me to an urgency unrefined.
