Blues

Originally posted 12/19/2012; original title, “Blue Sex.”

This early,
this warm.
This dark
singing,
a tangled
blues;

lemon squeezing, starter mashing,
rolling, tumbling,
juice runs down our legs blues;
“can’t be satisfied — ” 
challenge, not lament;

slide ice cube
stinging it,
gliding it
fast between mouths 
and bellies;

sun will barge in
soon enough — 
how humid it’ll smell then,
our hair torn up along with the room,
‘Sweet Home Chicago” in the background.

No matter how Mississippi 
it gets in here
this warm,
this early,
this dark,

we always end up
asking each other,
“baby —
baby don’t you
wanna go?”