Where are you visiting from?
in the afterlife? So many possibilities: the Bardo, Jannah, Purgatory, Svarfa, Valhalla.
No matter, behind closed eyes I feel you here, as I’m splayed. Displayed, ready to be slit and
sliced. In this pleasure palace of the O.R, I flash my snatch at the white coats and you-here.
There’s no position like this in the principals of the Kama Sutra or the once drawer-bound Joy of Sex.
And even with the stories of the martyrs and the virgins, no details of other worldly caresses, or heavenly hard-ons.
No one in this line-up cares about what’s exposed, only the hip they’re here to fix. No climax comes with a dose of Fentanyl.
So you must lift the veil between the living and the dead, and bless my orchid one more time. I won’t tell.
Sherry Chappelle struggles with love, death, metaphor and sound from a small corner of Lewes, Delaware. She has been a member of the Coastal Writers of the Rehoboth Beach Art League for two decades. She won the 2011 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize for her chapbook Salmagundi, and has a completed manuscript, Always Prey, that she hopes to publish.