“Not another poem about sex!” my long-married wife exclaims, when I explain this new poem to her. Well yes, I’m afraid so.
Why have I written so many erotic poems in recent times? Am I obsessed? Well, yes and no. Society (unfairly) claims to have the last word on something sacred that God originally created. I merely attempt to restate its organic origins.
The beginning of life by Lilia Kuizs, Hungary
moonlight unbuttons night-clothed desire,
the mercury gauge climbs much higher;
my fingers forage, your berries pert,
palm cupped male parts fully alert.
flood release, tidal-tempest ardour,
arms embrace, welcoming harbour:
my sailing prow pushes, docks slowly,
your supple space humid and holy.
your earthy ovum I shower with seed:
pulsing restless, ejected arrows speed;
feminine-reflective, receptive your dreams:
Edenic our cornucopia, spilling at seams.
mystical this moment, in eye lash blink,
chromosomes: choose blue, or pink;
gestation starts, coda to afterglow:
almost-invisible, an embryo slowly grows.