Tammy Nuzzo-Morgan, Suffolk County’s Poet Laureate for 2009-2011, is the author of the chapbooks The Bitter, The Sweet, One Woman’s Voice,  and Let Me Tell You Something (that last nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in 2006). She is the founder and president of The North Sea Poetry Scene, Inc. and The North Sea Poetry Scene Press, and was editor of Long Island Sounds Anthology. When we put out the call for sexy Valentine’s Month poetry, Nuzzo-Morgan’s response was immediate. Below, a sampling of the suite she gifted us with and named “Love Over 40.”

This is the Moment When

the sunburst in your eye catches eternity
the curls of your hair frame your face
the stubble on your chin scrapes my face
the pulse in your neck throbs rhythmically
and kisses liquefy me into you, you into me.

This is the moment when
your scent lingers in my nose
the cup of your hand enfolds my breast
my fingers play down your back
as masculine mass of leg wraps feminine
and the sureness of you surrounds the sway of me.

This is the moment when
the world melts away
and all that remains is us;
the energy we made.

The Russian Thinks You Are My Lover

The Russian thinks you are my lover with hands that mold

& eyes that sing & lips that tease & chest I rest upon

& arms that make me know & legs that drive sanity into my mad world

& moans that claim you as mine & sweat that drips from your neck

& so I open my mouth, reach out my tongue & our exploration goes on

until we are ripe again & sleep that wipes our brows smooth.

The Russian thinks you are my lover with deep talks over Turkish coffee

& cigarette smoke that curls about your face & the dissecting of poems

& my fingers that brush the hair from your cheek

& long drives to watch leaves change color in New England

& mornings spent in a sleeping bag cocooning our need

& walks on cold Manhattan streets toward poetry readings

& restaurants & places to stop & watch & belong & understand.

The Russian thinks you are my lover with poems written in bathtubs

& sipping of wine from your parent’s collection

& CDs played over & over, just because

& photos of you & me, that & this

& a cat that walks straight toward us

& late night phone calls to confess that you think of me even in your sleep

& white roses waiting by my door in Sunday morning

& one slow dance & Indian food at 2am

& my lips mouthing your name in the dark.

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