tips on love-making

It is customary

I believe

to thank the server

for services tendered

but you

my dear madam

seem quite content

to make payment

in cash

for the kind that were rendered

so I find myself

caught

in a bit of a bind

as to how I should feel:

should I be quite

offended?

or should I shut up

and enjoy the sensation

of loving for money -

the battle surrendered

it seems I'm resolved -

though I do have some qualms -

leave it on the nightstand

least said,

soonest mended

but please take the list

that you left behind

pointing out my techniques

that could be emended.

the cellar steps

there is a looseness

in your unobstructed belly

in the easy swing of your hips

as you weave between tables

towards me

in the parting of your lips

over smiling teeth

in the soft cloth

of your dress

brushing the skin beneath

you drift in silk

and stand so close

I feel your body's heat

hear the sounds of textile against flesh

smell failing deodorant

like a gift of weakness

or a threat

or a promise

and when the strand

of hair

blows across your cheek

and slips

into the soft cavern of your mouth

with a single finger

you pull it from

between your lips

the tip

of your tongue

glimpses daylight

the strand lies

damp against your cheek

I taste that saliva

I drink you in

and your odours

I devour

you order milk

sweetened with raspberry syrup

and as you talk

you touch my arm

with a light hand

that burns so

that I cannot look at you

but rage

bought up my spirit

and the opening by others

of ragged wounds

has left me cruel

rough handed

and empty

and now

you tell me how

the young you

deep afraid of the dark

stood at the cellar door

but could not climb down the steps

controlling my pupils

I can boast
of only one facility
a gracile ability
to loosen one eye
from its rigidity
to cross the one
towards the bridge
of my nose
but leave the other in its
position of solidity

the pupil from the left
looks out over a world
already uncurled
in the pupil from the right

there is
a double checking of facts
in a field
of layering doubt

the ordering
of information
struggles with
a confounding
of binocular confusion

I count myself fortunate
however
that this that I count as a talent
for some is an unwished for curse

double vision
is my decision

so in my single cross-eyed haze
I can at any moment

stop

and realign my gaze