The Erotic Poetry of David Anderson

All is peaceful in your bed
As you lay there sitting
with a comforter in your lap
and a bevy of pillows up your back,
wreathing round your head

Sweet visions you entice
Wearing nothing
’cept a red handkerchief
whose nettled florals shade your eyes
and invite in a garden
Dream of bright daylight

My tender lips do gently suck, once each
the gravity side of heaving breast, underneath
and wander down circuitously
in the lazy business of a bee
frantically, humbly, bumbly, dallying

Then that sweet–smelling bud is joyfully discovered
Upon which our bee gingerly endeavors
onto sacred ground
Exploring about for what there is to take
As legs press deeply into petal’s folds
In response to his cantankerous march
Our flower unveils herself in an expansive sigh

Now the stamen is found
and only nectar is wanted
Oh, such a busy bee
so adamant about it
As flower trembles this way and that
Supporting the little fellow

At long last the pollen is taken up
The flower is conscious of the loss
In remembrance of such ruddy gifts
The bee gathers every last bit
And gently flies away

Now the gardener saunters in
For our flower must be parched
well, we’ll drown her anyway
It's so steamy at midday
in burning summer

The hose has been lying out in the sun
all this time
Though cold water runs from its base
it will come out hot

Careless lobs of water
Thrash, thrash, in and out of the petals
There, finally, the hose is fixed
Oh, but the constant undulating pressure
Has the gardener gone negligent?

For a span of unendurable length, our fragile flower
held down under violent, heedless protuberance
shuddering in its overwhelming strength
And suddenly,
water gone;
petals thoroughly soaked

So much abuse for so innocent a flower
and nowhere to go for safety
For all the bittersweet torments
she finds herself handled safely
better off, even