Siren

Like a siren, she came
up to me at the bar
and asked me to share
a bottle with her.

She pronounced Rioja
as if she knew the soil type.
Even you'd admit,
your honour, her breasts

are as sturdy
as the gavel's block.
It was her who'd raised her arm
as if she had an answer

for the street. Ask the taxi man:
he thought her my wife.
Back at mine she chose a track
recorded in nineteen-eighty-three.

She could have spelt diaphragm
forwards, backwards.
She could trace my perineum
like the outline of a map.

And when she came,
her chest coloured in.
And when she came,
she came like a siren.