Marilyn Hacker, from Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons. Sonnets can be damn fun, oh yes they can.
Well, damn, it’s a relief to be a slut
after such lengths of “Man delights not me,
nor woman neither,” that I honestly
wondered if I’d outgrown it. Chocolate
or wine, a cashmere scarf, a cigarette,
had more to do with sensuality
than what’s between my belly and my butt
that yearns toward you now unabashedly.
I’d love to grip your head between my thighs
while yours tense toward your moment on my ears,
but I’ll still be thankful for this surprise
if things turn out entirely otherwise,
and we’re bar buddies who, in a few years,
will giggle about this after two beers.