Rowwr. Here are two poems I found whilst unpacking that are just, yeah.

Look Here

Next time you walk by my place
in your bearcoat and mooseboots,
your hair all sticks and leaves
like an osprey's nest on a piling,
next time you walk across my shadow
with those swamp-stumping galoshes
below that grizzly coat and your own whiskers
that look rumpled as if something's
been in them already this morning
mussing and growling and kissing--
next time you pole the raft of you downriver
down River Street past my place
you could say hello, you canoe-footed fur-faced
musk ox, pockets full of cheese and acorns
and live fish and four-headed winds and sky, hello
is what human beings say when they meet each other
--if you can't say hello like a human don't
come down this street again and when you do don't
bring that she-bear, and if you do I'll know
even if I'm not on the steps putting my shadow
down like a welcome mat, I'll know.

�������--Pamela Alexander

______________________________

Lucia Martinez

���Lucia Martinez
Shadowy in red silk.

���Like the evening, your thighs
move from light into shadow.
Hidden veins of jet
darken your magnolias.

���Here I am, Lucia Martinez.
I've come to devour your mouth
drag you off by the hair
into the seashells of daybreak.

���Because I want to and I can.
Shadowy in red silk.

�������--Federico Garcia Lorca

__________________________

I said it once, but it bears repeating: Rowwwr. I want to have sex with them both. I know, Lorca's much too old for me. And gay. And dead. Stupid stupid bad and evil Franco. But Pamela Alexander...