Sure she was naked,
but not like you see in the movies,
and we made love,
but, once again,
nothing to threaten
the profound passions of the silver screen.
Still, she did dance a little,
wearing just her heels of all things.
And she grabbed the bedpost
like it was a pole
in a cheap strip joint,
swung and swayed.
But, then again,
I’ve seen better in the movies.
But we were falling in love,
like we never really did with film stars.
We had each other
and I’ve yet to see that movie.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Silkworm work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Main Street Rag and Spoon River Poetry Review.