Mind Caviar Poetry, Sexy Poems

Joanna Nelson is a poet and freelance musician who lives in the Bay Area of California.  Her work appeared in the 2002 Spring Issue of Mind Caviar.

Illustration "Off to War" Copyright © 2002 Glenn Beuhring.
All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.
Playing Doctor 
or Phone Sex Haiku

for Eddie

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

And pregnancy tests.
I canít 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.
Iím touching my nipples now.
Does that make you hot?

Oh yeah, you breathe.  Then
Iíd examine your vulvaó-
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.  Iíd
Save the best for last.

First, the speculum.
Then Iíd push my fingers deep
Inside your pussy.

Like this?  I moan, two
Fingers in my sopping cunt.
Iím fucking myselfó-

Mmm, yeah, you answer.
Pretend that Iím massaging
Your G-spot... my dick

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

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

Thatís itó-yes, baby,
You hiss.  My cockís inside you
Youíre so wet and tight

Iím fucking you so
Hard... canít hold back much more...Iím
Coming, Jesus Christ

Your strangled cry and
Mine rise in unisonó-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.

for Eddie

In real life,
Iím a musician
And youíre 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 Iíll never understand you
And I reply angrily
That you donít 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.

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