Hey! Press This Button! (Idyll)

We caught the sun rioting off the Keys,
cut the sails, slowed the rented sloop.
Now, I’ve heard the world talk, but

I never heard it say, quite like this,
“We want to watch you two fuck.”
I mean, isn’t the world mostly about bad luck?

“Let’s just sit and tan,” she said,
handing me a bottle. “Oil me up.”
The sun twitched a little hotter. Later, lotter.

Her fingers in bird beaks behind her back
unknotted her bikini top; her white cotton shorts
dropped soft as sighs to the teak deck.

Old pirate wails etched the summer trades,
as she got down on her hands and knees,
then stretched prone onto a stolen hotel towel,

ankles crossed. Attired in bracelets. Entirely.
Hands fast become addicted to lubricated skin.
They’ll have fearful cravings for more of this!

Slide my chest up the full length of her back.
My physical center finds its God-given groove,
and I whisper, in the faith that poets have

in the power of such words, such moments,
“Spread your legs.” “Aye-aye, captain,”
she says, in sleepy panther growl.

Toes pointed, ankles drift apart, slow as lake canoes,
bows tied to the same dock cleat. And there enters
a slipperiness of two from one, all from me.