Sunday, July 15, 2012

Sex Dreams

(Portrait of me by Tillie Leonard-Fritzmeier)

Dream #1
I am making love to a pregnant woman.
In real life, I know this woman.
Her husband left her
Just after the birth of their second child.
She is much younger than me.
We get along fine.
In the dream her husband has already left,
But she is still pregnant.
She comes to me and says,
“It’s been so long since I felt good.”
I know she is talking about her husband leaving,
But I know, too, she is talking about sex.
I say, “I’m going to make you feel good.”
She closes her eyes
And lets her head fall back.
She is grateful for my touch
And that I’m there.
Her husband has left,
But I’m still there.
I’m grateful to be touching her.
Her belly and breasts
Are so tight they are shiny,
But they don’t get in the way.
There is no clumsiness.
Our lovemaking
Is an exchange of
Generosity and gratitude,
Gratitude and generosity.
It flows back and forth,
Back and forth.

Dream #2
I am taking the sun
On the roof of a rusted out car
In the middle of a big field of tall grass.
I’m naked.
The grass is yellow like gold.
You can see the wind blowing.
It moves the grass in waves.
I know I am in Africa.
I’m taking the sun
On the top of a wrecked car
In the African veldt.
Way off, across the golden grasslands,
I see movement
That is different
Than the wind blowing the grass.
Way off, there is a line of black men
Moving toward me.
They are black black.
Like only African skin is black.
Their faces are painted.
Yellow and white designs
Around their eyes
Across their cheeks and foreheads.
They are carrying spears and shields.
The shields are painted
With the same designs as their faces.
Then I see,
Maybe twenty yards
In front of the hunters,
Something yellow is moving through the yellow grass.
I have know since the beginning of the dream,
Since before I saw the hunters,
What was coming.
A lion zigzags toward me through the grass
In a low crouch,
Moving fast, keeping
Close to the ground.
It can’t double back.
It has to come forward.
I’m not afraid.
I have full knowledge of what will happen next
He is so close
I can look into his yellow eyes.
He puts his paws up on the car.
He is standing up out of the grass.
He is not hidden anymore.
His yellow body stands out clearly
Against the rusty hulk of the car.
He licks me and his lick feels like sex.
His lick lifts my genitals
And fills me with anticipation
And hope.
I wake up.
But before I’m all the way awake,
Before the dream is completely over,
I know the hunters kill the lion.
He gave up his cover for me.
He gave up being
A yellow lion in yellow grass.
Some of the spears
Just clatter against the side of the wrecked car,
But some, enough,
Before I am fully awake
Pierce him.

Dream #3
I am reading erotic poetry
In a New England library
Just two blocks from the ocean.
I have read about
Making love to a pregnant woman.
I have read about being licked
By an African lion.
Although it is early in the season,
As I begin reading about a third sex dream,
Outside the library windows,
A hurricane is beginning to blow.
Hurricane Delores, or Desdemona, or Delphinium…
I can’t remember, but
Her winds rattle the windows
And her rains splatter the roof.
Sea foam blows off the tips of waves
And skitters along the street,
Past the post office,
Past the hotel,
Past the surf shop,
Past the library.
Is making a hell of a lot of noise.
The audience leans forward.
They cup their hands to their ears
Trying to catch my words.
Random words are heard or misheard:
“Licked, semen, blow, clitoris, tits.”
Wow! One man thinks. This is the sexiest one yet!
Lifts the roof and swirls through the room.
The lighthouse painting crashes to the floor.
Nautical charts of Narragansett Bay
Are ripped from the wall.
The case displaying the
Scrimshaw collection is up-ended.
My lips keep moving
But my words are snatched away
And spread all along the East coast
From Cape May to Old Orchard Beach.
The audience is left
To compose their own erotica.

1 comment: