After John Donne's &Quot;To His Mistress Going To Bed&Quot; Poem by Lisa Russ Spaar

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Lisa Russ Spaar

United States

After John Donne's &Quot;To His Mistress Going To Bed&Quot;

 


What might she send — a wet sleeve,
or platter of brine-latticed bluefish
dusky with capers, lemons, wine;
a briar for your thumb, a mouth,

lunatic, to suck the blood:
a signal that one too often

inside & now beside herself with thoughts
of you wonders how she might woo

and through dew-whetted keyhole
pursue & sing & win? She is marvelous

with waiting. Come. Hunt here.
Relieve with hands and tongue her heavy hour.

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Lisa Russ Spaar

United States
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