Poem as Lap Dance

Beth Oast Williams
| poetry

 

With her words naked before you,
slide the author’s name
into your mouth, mount her stanza,
nipple the rhyme. The line ending gets you
so close. Tongue the simile until it splits
your brain. Refrain, know it’s coming
again, refrain. Rub your flesh along
the crest of her volta. Turn the page,
turn the whole damn book away
from your face. Strip pages apart
until the spine breaks, contents
on the table, index in your hand.
On your lap, paper so wet
one poem sticks to the next.

Beth Oast Williams is the author of the chapbook Riding Horses in the Harbor. Her poetry has been accepted for publication in Nimrod, MAYDAY, Leon Literary Review, and Rattle’s “Poets Respond,” among others, and nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.

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