The first snow of the year <br />& you lying between my breasts <br />in my husband's house <br />& the snow gently rising in my throat <br />like guilt, <br />& the windows frosted over <br />as if etched by acid. <br /> <br />You have come from the desert <br />& have left a little sand <br />between my legs <br />where it rubs & rubs <br />& secretes a milky fluid, <br />finally a poem <br />or a pearl. <br /> <br />I am your oyster shell, <br />your mother of pearl <br />gleaming like oil on water <br />for two hours on a snowy day. <br /> <br />'Poets fall in love to write about it!' <br />I said in my brittle way, <br />& told you about other loves to tempt you <br />& heard your siren songs of old affairs. <br /> <br />I fall in love as a kind of research project. <br />You fall in love as some men go to war. <br /> <br />What tanks! <br />What bombs! <br />What storms of index cards! <br /> <br />I am binding up your legs with carbon ribbon. <br />I tied you to the bed with paper chains.<br /><br />Erica Jong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paper-chains/
