Ordinary Sex

If no swan descends

in a blinding glare of plumage,

drumming the air with deafening wings,

if the earth doesn’t tremble

and rivers don’t tumble uphill,

if my mother’s crystal

vase doesn’t shatter

and no extinct species are sighted anew

and leaves of the city trees don’t applaud

as you zing me to the moon, starry tesserae

cascading down my shoulders,

if we stay right here

on our aging Simmons Beautyrest,

dumped into the sag in the middle,

that’s okay.

You don’t need to strew rose petals

in my bath or set a band of votive candles

flickering around the rim.

You don’t need to invent a thrilling

new position, two dragonflies

mating on the wing. Honey,

you don’t even have to wash up after work.

A little sweat and sunscreen

won’t bother me.

Take off your boots, babe,

swing your thigh over mine. I like it

when you do the same old thing

in the same old way.

And then a few kisses, easy, loose,

like the ones we’ve been

kissing for a hundred years.