JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Skipping, he plays white then black

            black then white, now he caresses,

                        now deep inside

my heart, pumping its metronome

            slave to his every whim

            trills, frills, arpeggios,

            not a single missed beat

his fingers so assured

 

            the way he touches me – meticulous!

as all the while his quill scrapes on

                        recording

my every gasp, each sensation

            blending, fanning out, blending

 

Ardent, careful lover

so sure he can light my inner flame

and he does, again and again

            do you know, this morning

I had so many climaxes, I lost

count, each time I thought it was

over, then he touched me once more

sure, confident. 

 

            yesterday, I overheard him

espousing my virtues to a friend—

            someone called Goldberg

 

I can’t even hint to you

            what happened then