February 14: Embarrass My Kids, Sex Poetry, "Radio Jazz in the Morning"

And, just because it's Valentine's Day, I'm going to embarrass my kids.  Because that's one of the pleasures of being a parent.

I don't write many poems that are very sexual.  (I was going to use the word "explicitly," but the poem below is not graphically sexual.  It's an extended metaphor that riffs on sex.)  Sex poetry is just not my thing.  Music is, though.  So is my wife.

Therefore, Saint Marty gives you some . . .

Radio Jazz in the Morning

by:  Martin Achatz

Guitar lifts, runs, falls, trips over
My naked body, taps along arm,
Reaches down back, into vertebrae,
Makes juices flow and jump, my horn
Riff the air, sway, heavy now, light now,
My mind still with my wife in bed,
Her curves, hot breath, parted lips,
Ready for the jazz of fingers, bebop
Of hands on her skin, rhythm, bass
On breast, thigh, nipple, neck,
Mardi Gras of body on body, tongue
On her reed, slick music in mouth,
Passed from my tenor to her alto,
Her trumpet to my trombone,
Until we're jamming, unable to tell
Me from her, her from me, our voices
Rising, like Jesus on Easter morning,
Filling the world with sound, sweet sound,
Louie, Ella, Duke, Charlie, yeah, Bird,
Chasing Bird all the way to paradise.  Yeah.