Sunday, August 10, 2014

Jennifer Lagier- Three Poems

Eternity Could be Like This
Camille is barefoot.
Sits at her backyard
bistro table.
Sips an icy glass
of good sauvignon blanc.
Watches hummingbirds
as they whirr from
fuchias to foxgloves,
promiscuously probe
deep inside open blossoms.
Imagines her lover,
prone, his hunger
aroused, swelling.
Fantasizes riding
him long and hard,
the scent and taste
of his pleasure.
She is content.
Put Out Water with Fire
Camille is pissed,
has promised
herself there would be
no more boyfriends, lovers,
especially husbands.
Now she is hooked,
has it bad
for the newest
delinquent who
disrupts nights,
short-circuits writing,
hardens her nipples.
One more pseudo
Jack Kerouac,
Hank Chinaski,
or e.e. cummings.
Hates her weakness.
Already knows
betrayal, major
are coming.
Camille contemplates
the gardener:
tight ass,
intriguing jeans bulge,
six pack abdomen,
muscular biceps.
Thinks of D.H. Lawrence,
his sensual women--
Connie Chatterley
with the gamekeeper,
a satisfying, yet
unsuitable lover.
Rafael grins,
white teeth against
cappuccino tan.
She imagines him lightly
nibbling her earlobe,
rough hands moving
against pale, silky skin.
Her back arches,
toes curl.
She quivers,
feels him
inside her.

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