Pardonez-moi, darling

I want my lover to be the
way I eat his poetry,
like a delicacy, sweet to the bone
of his fingers,
salivating
and
taking me places
I've never been before
rendezvous-ing with untoward
lucid metaphor
naked in crisp white-ironed
summer-flowered sheets
of
possession and
unhinged imagination

him
unbuttoning my pedigree and
loosening my persuasion
until I scream
God, can you stop this mind-fuck
please
and let's go sailing the viridian
grid with mouthfuls of torrid sun

the villagers never liked you,
did they, their little black circle
of welts in the air.