I must state right at the outset
that I’ve never actually been
on a female poet
or even underneath or inside one.
But I thought about this
seriously
at a poetry reading once
when a particularly sensitive
and gentle girl read her poetry
and I wondered how well
the delicacy of her ideas
and subtlety of her poem
would translate into
the carnal and profane.

It was sensuous to think about this
and savor some wine
with her afterwards.
I felt distinctly like
a priapic, dangerous Dionysius,
or a satyr sizing up a nymph.

But I licked my lips and
said I liked her poem,  
then I knocked off the wine instead.