Her Soft Fruit 1972 Poem by Terry Collett

Abela
sighs out a
big breathy

sexual
satisfied
woman's sigh

sex is done
we lie there
on the bed

satiated
she glowing
me sweating

just moonlight
in the sky
with sprinkled

shiny stars
hotel room
(3 star joint)

window open
some music
from afar

want more booze
she whispers
in my ear

I get up
out of bed
pour her a

white wine
myself scotch
with cold ice

we lie and
sip our booze
when we're back

at the shop
we must have
modern art

I suggest
that old stuff's
too boring

she lies there
sipping wine
her fine legs

slightly spread
no guessing
I suppose

studying
her soft fruit
what's ahead.