Sex with Coltrane

by: Maria Teutsch

Are the children opening mouths like hungry saxophones
Clamoring for bread from my bread music?
This exhale of ours bellows in and out
And does not look like a wind instrument
Must be a fool’s hat collecting coins
Never earned by my frail mouth, not like Coltrane
We never slept in the same bed
Coltrane and I: in the same bed I’d fumble.
Yet you wind inside of me and I become your
Now the breasts on my lips
Soft like the rolls I’d bake
When I finally clamored myself to you
Earning that key no door will unlock
I wake to find you seamed against me, Coltrane.