Poem #172 of 365

Lori veered straight for the
glass window, like some folks
head for the cheese tray
at the happy hour buffet.

She was hell- or heaven-bent
on pressing her hands to
the glass and peering peering
peering with such lustful
gazes that we almost
pulled back,
to let her have a moment alone.

It was a Calder,
a free-standing Calder,
about as tall as she,
low enough that Lori
could have swooped it
in an easy
but passionate
embrace had not the glass
been there
to partition her from it,
separating art from its lover.

Her voice became throaty and low,
and I tiptoed through the
precision-cut
landscaped lawn of the
Nasher Sculpture Center
to be a witness,
as if tucked behind a banana tree
to see Adam get down with Eve
in the first delicious lap dance
of humanity.

But this time it
was art and woman,
sculpture and girl,
in a quiet midnight tryst.

All she did was stare and sigh,
coo and admire, like a child
in a garden of delights.

In downtown Dallas,
Lori got it on with a Calder,
and this love
needed no shame.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez