for Eddie

On the phone you say,
I hate Ob/Gyn rotations.
Nothing but pap smears

And pregnancy tests.
I can’t wait to get back to
Treating heart patients.

Hmm, I say.  Rough life,
Having your hand in pussies
All day.  Could be worse.

It could be better,
You reply.  You could be the
One on the table.

Would I have to wear
That thin paper gown, and put
My feet in stirrups?

I ask, getting warm.
Of course, you murmur.  First I
Would palpate your breasts.

Like this?  I reply.
I’m touching my nipples now.
Does that make you hot?

Oh yeah, you breathe.  Then
I’d examine your vulva—-
With my tongue, of course.

Then what?  I whisper,
My panties very wet now.
Would you look at my...

Vagina?  You ask,
Interrupting.  Oh yes.  I’d
Save the best for last.

First, the speculum.
Then I’d push my fingers deep
Inside your pussy.

Like this?  I moan, two
Fingers in my sopping cunt.
I’m fucking myself—-

Mmm, yeah, you answer.
Pretend that I’m massaging
Your G-spot... my dick

Is out now.  I’ve got
A raging hard-on...I rub
It against your thigh

God, fuck me with your
Beautiful cock!  I beg you.
I’m going to come soon

That’s it—-yes, baby,
You hiss.  My cock’s inside you
You’re so wet and tight

I’m fucking you so
Hard... can’t hold back much more...I’m
Coming, Jesus Christ

Your strangled cry and
Mine rise in unison—-we
Come at the same time...

A few years have passed,
And now and then I wonder:
After all this time,

Do you still get an
Erection each time you see
A pair of stirrups?

"Playing Doctor or Phone Sex Haiku" Copyright © 2002 Joanna Nelson. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
 

In real life,
I’m a musician
And you’re a doctor
With a GQ haircut and Armani suits
And a Spanish surname
That belies the pure American blood
That runs in your veins.
In real life, we quarrel frequently
And you brood sometimes after sex
Plagued by Catholic guilt
Imposed on your ancestors long ago
By ignorant Europeans
Who cared nothing for their customs,
Knew nothing of their religion.
In real life,
You say I’ll never understand you
And I reply angrily
That you don’t even understand yourself.

But when we make love
I am a young woman in a white settlement
On a desolate prairie in Indian Territory
And you are my Apache lover
Courageous and innocent
With only skins at your waist,
Your broad chest bare and brown.
Like a thief you steal into my house
As my back is turned
And startle me with your silent embrace.
Lifting my skirts, you bend me over the table
And take me from behind
Your breath hot and fast in my ear
Your long black hair tickling the back of my neck.
No words are spoken as you
Ride me like a stolen horse across the plains
Farther and farther from civilization
Setting us both free.

"Savage" Copyright © 2002 Joanna Nelson.
All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.