The Sex We Talk

  by Susan Stevens


It's always been this way. Even when
you thought we spoke of reason, art
or politics, we were already in that car
pulling the walls in closer to confine
us, breathing hard and that's all,
but wasn't that enough—

talking issues that those stars
five miles out of town saw were really
sex. Or remember us on hands and knees
in classic pose for finding what’s missing—
then, a profusion of beads reflecting
what we missed before we were this close
to the ground and each other.

--Talk so close to sex that your vehemence
in our chats made me want to give you photos
of my breasts, making you the voyeur
for your hot words alone.  How fervent we are
when we speak.  It's the thrashing about
of our minds that does it for us, since
like the operatic tenor and soprano
we haven't really done anything but sing
to each other.

It has always seemed to me the variety of speech
(unlike that other intercourse) is endless.
Just keep talking.  Or say nothing and continue to wait.