by Mel Sherrer
The world dreads winter, but loves winter sex—
cozied up in quilts,
hands and feet
seeking out warm places
beams from the oil-burning stove
rays through kitchen windows
radiance between sheets
sun melting snow.
In the desert, where summer comes and ends with blurred edges,
where the heat makes everything
seem seem seem
sex is arduous
like kneeling down, cheeks grazing the creosote bush with its buttery flowers, lying on your belly beneath the California juniper, the Mojave yucca, letting the searching petals lodge in your hair, scouring scorched gravel to find the most exquisite
succulent.
You’ve got to really want it at 120 degrees—
the sex, to see.
Mel Sherrer is a poet and performer from Las Vegas, Nevada. She received her B.F.A. from Hollins University in Roanoke, Virginia, and her M.F.A. in Poetry from Converse University in Spartanburg, South Carolina. She currently teaches courses in Performance Literature and Poetry. Find her work and more information at MelSherrer.com.
