Iambic Pentameter

The smell of cashmere and gasoline rose
From still-warm clothing piled behind the couch.
A lusty fire crackled at the hearth.
On the table stood a pitcher of
Iced coffee. Tiny beads of moisture ran
Down the glasses soaking the tablecloth.
Beside the sofa droplets of sweat formed,
Trickled and pooled like their chilly cousins.

Raccoons prowled through the garbage cans.
A brown bear sent them chittering away.

I think I’ll call my newest knitted scarf
Chiaroscuro since the darker colors and
The light ones pool like shadows and the sun.
The play of variations makes me smile;
The difference makes the effect more intense
Like a frosty glass touched to a steaming back.


2 Responses to “Iambic Pentameter”

  1. January 4, 2009 at 22:36

    Good poem! Sex scenes are so difficult to write well, both in poetry and in fiction, but you do a wonderful job here.

  2. January 5, 2009 at 00:10

    You are just too talented!

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