Siren, by Robert Haas
Here is the poem I meant to write
But didn’t
Because you walked into my study
Without any clothes on.
I had just been thinking of how the Aegean sun
Must have lit up the faces of Troy’s fallen heroes
When you walked into my study
Without any clothes on—
Walked in and stood there,
Holding a glass of sherry
Over your left breast,
Which looked soft and firm as Brie.
Your tone of voice this morning
Should have warned me
That you might walk into my study
Without any clothes on.
I should have lashed myself to my chair
And stoppered my ears with wax.
But I forgot.
And I’m glad I forgot
Because when you walked into my study
Without any clothes on
You sang sweetly, sang sweetly,
And I died nobly, like a man.
Nathan Ballingrud 
Nathan –
Brief shout-out from SoCal, where I am writing, eating avocados, jumping in the Pacific Ocean, and generally enjoying a respite from the onslaught that is my regularly scheduled life. I wish I was in A’ville; I’d take you out for a beer. Let’s try to get together when I get back. I would still like to exchange work; maybe we could help goad one another to finish our books. I’m back for good around the 18th.
Take care,
Katherine
I’m jealous! Let’s definitely meet up when you get back. I’m looking forward to it!
That is a wonderful poem, and I feel almost cheated that I had not encountered it before now.