Grocery Store Gigolo - Poetry in Motion

[A friend who translates poetry from Czech to English sent me this poem. Although he forgot to credit the author of the work, which could be him, I didn't care. The beauty of the message caught my breath in mid-air, juggling the carbon dioxide furiously, while stirring my senses to a hopeless frazzle. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.]

Grocery Store Gigolo

For a ten dollar bill, I will marry you
every Friday for a week.
Let me snow ball you red with laughter
on the peak of mount Fuji
and without causing any undue earthquake
let me press my lips into your life-giving topography.

In the morning I will serve you guava shake in bed,
and let Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake water the philodendrons.
For five dollars I will feed you persimmons with my fingers
and papaya slices mouth-to-mouth.
I will scrub your back with oatmeal,
cover your face with guacamole
and wash your hair in coconut milk.

After I shower you with pomegranate wine
and lick you clean,
I will pass you a towel and lie down beside the tub
to keep your feet off the cold porcelain.

Weaving the orchids of Bora-Bora into your hair,
I will tie your ponytail with the tropic of Capricorn
(when you grow one).

I will plant a nasturtium blossom above your ear,
rub two drops of rose oil behind your knees
and give you a horsie ride to the sand of your choice.
For a quarter, I will fill your purse with sand dollars,
dive for oysters with seaweed,
and culture flamingo pearls
for your ears. While you eat, I will play Water
Music on a conch.

For one more dollar I will carry you into the sunset.
In the peristyle of your temple
I will slide my tongue up the hyperbola
of your trapezius muscle,
mold it inside your abalone ear,
and eat your nasturtium.

For dinner you can sip Gelati with a straw
as it melts on your abdomen while I rub your feet
and lick the cream rivulets you let escape
to pinker places.
In the auburn light of the Florentine evening
I will braid the remaining sunrays into your locks
and send a bottle of Cinzano Rosso to your publisher.

For your last dime I will sharpen your pencil with my teeth
and bring your notebook to the courtyard.
For a chance to hear your poems in the moonlight,
I will give you all your money back.

[Author unknown at this time, but investigative work is being done.]