Erotic poetry excerpt from “An Inch Lower and It Would Be Pornography”, from Chandler.
Siren en Tropique
Your torso wound tight in sheer fabric
the linen winding upwards
like a serpent in search of places to hide
in fruit trees.
Outlines of undergarments
frame your promises
to sweet pulp and watermelon refresh
Passport stamps state free agency
in foreign bedrooms
in hidden alcoves of the night
where making love lingers on the body
like a garter heavy with human sweat.
Sweat beads without reprieve
of air-conditioned chambers,
forces forbidden notions on your naked frame
tangerine pith falling way to sections
Surface tension quivers
to anticipate the first move
Beckons towards inevitable
exhaustion cessation of heat
But I am a tourist who moves
and must not be late for breakfast at eight
Within a single breath I leave the porch
to see your pimp watch
as you ply flesh to entangle
faithless men to drown
Circe warned of your coming
I extinguish the lantern formed by my cigarette in the night.
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