Dark Theatre: Oyster Plot
meaning winter afternoons spent off-campus in the old
a full course of theoretical male extensions and stylized female
parts. our bottoms anchored to worn velvet cushions.
For three credit hours,
slide shows descended, professor droning about penile projections,
gender specific lubricants, and the mind (little on that)
began to wander,
as if someone's finger were added to velvet,
stirring the concept into undulant bodily waves.
The brain lifted the limits,
lowered the brow,
and slowly the teeth began to show,
a come-on to those near at hand:
Think of a theatre that dark,
with the Devil to your left, and on your right
the deep, inviting blue sea.
Throw off the arm rests, make quick work of the chairs
till the three of you
levitate to roll through the stuffy air of the Lyric,
tongues loose as oysters alive in the mouth
when you whisper you want more,
you want to rise high as the mountains, the devil forking you up,
the sea cresting you farther, higher, bluer. . .
tongues slip, flip, lick the lip open
until you are all one glistening lover of mother-of-pearl.