A Fan Poem by RIC BASTASA

this is a fan
in the manipulation of my hands
her hands hold another fan
making the signals of
our tryst
this is another fan of hers
for my manipulation
this will give the signals too
what time
where and when
and then we fan ourselves together
much to the dismay of
those who still think that this world
spins
because of love alone
no
there are other reasons which lust knows
apart from the reasons
of the propriety of an intimacy

there is this emptiness that must be filled
at least temporarily with the desires of the body
the curiosity of he mind
the button-less reality
of holes and bones and quivers
of the flesh

i am into this and you call me
quits.