Doors To Heaven Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Don’t you love her mind?
All decorated with sex
Corridors of Spain and France
Flesh tones with high heels
She plays me like an old song
Her skirt tight by a jukebox
Her smile as sweet as Paris

Looking at antique lamps
Her tongue a thousand languages
Silk existentialism like ice cream
Libido paints the moon purple
She warned me about being polite
I tell her, “I love your perfume”
I open car doors for her

Now I’m opening doors to heaven