by Betta Rouse

and we undressed. I
was all over the man. He took to
my hips and legs, kissed my
toes, my legs, all the way
to my pussy, and on
over my belly. I wanted
his cock, and crawled over him,
mouthed him, rode him
into the dawn, and the next night
after a day of wines and paintings
left with him by train for Paris.
We did it all again, on folding seats,
right to the edge of the city.
I thought to keep him at my studio,
and we climbed to it, feeling of one another,
long kisses up against the walls,
all three flights of stairs,
but I couldn’t bear leave him there,
dragged him to the apartment,
where we ate supper with my husband.

by Betta Rouse

Everything was very wet.
The music might have been
a 1940’s sound track.
We might have been on the coast of Brittany.
The raindrops became a continuous flow,
poured from gutters onto wood,
splashed onto the wood.
The single candle, and its reflection
in the bureau mirror,
lit the whole room in that golden glow.
We had had drinks and dinner,
cherry pie and coffee.
I wanted you to look like I felt —
in my swimsuit,
a halter and high–waisted 40’s shorts.
I dragged you out into the rain
until we were both quite wet.
I took your head in my hands,
took your body to mine
as we kissed and kissed.
Afterwards I craved
the taste a good Italian
meal
leaves in your mouth.

by Betta Rouse

your pleasure, wanted
you for myself, wanted
your breasts, in my hands, in my face.
wanted to mouth your nipples, wanted
to hold your thighs, wanted you
over me, riding me, wanted your
bones grinding mine.

Your muffled cries and gasps,
your moans, carried
your pleasures to me, and I imagined
you with me, played in time
to that music, endured as you
endured, until almost dawn, to come
with you.

I lay quiet, listening for some
further sound, as the birds began
their songs, but there was nothing more
of you, until the sun was well up
and you greeted me, in the kitchen,
rosy cheeks, gave me
that courteous hug
we girls so often
give one another.

by Carl Clay Caulkins

On a Sunday I came back
    to my one room country shack
It was late afternoon
    in early Spring
You sat there on the bare mattress
    long hair fallin’ all down your back
The sun was sinking low
    and burning fiery red
When you turned your head
    the bed began to sing
Like a dulcimer

    made out of rusty springs

              ********

       Easy Street
Where they play that Hawaiian guitar
They say that love is bittersweet
They say it leaves a scar
       Oh Nancy
Let’s go dancin’ all the same
    We can’t go wrong
    As long as I just aim
                                 this car
              at that morning star

              ********

We ran off to Denver
    Dead certain I was ready
To conquer the Country Western
    music scene
You bought a silk kimono
    and learned to cook spaghetti
At closing time in the taverns
    I would sing “Goodnight Irene”
And then come waltzin’ home
    with a jingle

    and a jangle
    down in the pockets

    of my jeans

              ********

       Easy Street
Where they play that Hawaiian guitar
They say that love is bittersweet
They say it leaves a scar
       Oh Nancy
Won’t you dance with me all the same
    We can’t go wrong
    As long as I just aim
                                 this car

              at that morning star

               ********

Later in New England
    I was Singing “Ring of Fire”
and thinking Paris France
    or Budapest
I could see you at the corner table
    turning down admirers
Pale as the moon
    in your Sausalito dress
Sippin’ Rusty Nails
    and rememberin’
    the sunset that we saw
    when we were runaways
    passing through Wichita

    heading for the West

                     ********

       Easy Street
Where they play that Hawaiian guitar
They say that love is bittersweet
They say it leaves a scar
       Oh Nancy
We could dance through flames
    maybe we’ll vanish without a trace
    and laugh right in the devil’s face
    yes we could end up anyplace
         If I just aim
                          this car
       at that morning star