How Great It Was To Make Love To Aretha Franklin Circa 1970

Travelling to meet at some motel along
Route 66, or Highway 51,
Passing children swinging tennis rackets
Hitting stones across wastelands,
A snapped string every other strike.

Arriving at the deepest hour,
Smelling the cedar-wood foundations,
As some black cat pours itself
From a fence to a path.

Slipping in, like a delicate, dreamy fish,
Amberlamps glowing and leopard-skin prints,
A baroque clock on the wall melts
Into the fuchsia patterned paper
And the throat of the wind chokes outside.

Seeing her gnaw on the wing of a chicken in bed,
Her nightdress, corners her curves, a silken red.

Moving hands across her sand-coffee skin,
Kissing her rose of a smile and unfolding,
Until we build to
That moment -
The only purest present.
That moment -
Of absolute orgasm…

Collapsing, with the birds
Whistling outside, duped into daylight.

I don't think it was quite as great as making love to the Velvet Underground in 1969.

Hello John.

I studied some of Philip Larkin's work including 'Sunny Prestatyn'. After reading through your work I sensed a semantic double-entendre (?), is this intentional?
It's feels both lyrical and multi layered. I enjoy picking at the different layers of poetry and although Larkin has his critics, he gets you thinking. So does this. I enjoy your style.