Inspired by my old roommate’s grilfriend – at 3:45 in the am.

quiet girls make the best lovers.
they express so much more than
the formulaic shrieks of the moaners.

you can read the quiet ones:
they way their breath quickens
the scarce gasp that escapes
the scrape of fingernails
and the legs that clutch

loud girls give the same
performance to everyone
and encores would be more aptly
named: re-runs
complete with
canned laughter
and perfected fade-outs

quiet girls have the charm
of an awkward silence;

loud girls fill voids
with obscene noise

quiet girls have a tender eroticism
wrapped about them,
fed on bedtime stories from
Ovid and Abelard.

loud girls have no mystery;
their primers are founded
on stale issues of Cosmo
and bathroom stall graffiti

and, when that quiet girl
finally escapes
from silence,
you will not question.
you will know.


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