Boccaccio hoped his brilliant book would be perused
by lovely women alone in their beds.
Each of his hundred tales would leap like a cat
onto her coverlet, and twist its body this way and that
inviting her caresses on its belly, face and back.
Like the tale of Paganino da Monaco, from Day 2:
a pirate so attractive and ardent, that a young bride
he kidnaps, when “rescued” by her husband,
chooses to remain on the ship with her captor.
I have the work of a poet I loved on my night stand.
At any minute I expect a verse to land
on my bed with a light thump and begin to purr.
