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| "Grass on the way of love" by Keisai Eisen (1790 -1848) |
Lust
Shh!
Don’t speak
of subterranean streams
Primeval lifeblood of our dreams
Of cravings hot
and melded skin
Burying
consciousness deep within.
In shadowy bowers
Entwined for
hours
Panting frantically
for breath
The “petit
mort” or little death.
She looked
at me and I was lost
For paradise
our hearts are crossed.
Shh!
Don’t speak
of hands with blood red nails
Or love
when longing still prevails
Of cavern
deep and turret high
We plunge to
earth to grasp the sky.
But in the
halls of fantasy
I looked at
her and she saw me
Logic,
common sense and guile
We’ll leave
them gasping for a while.
In boiling artery
and vein
Immortal
urges pulse again.
For illustrative purposes, I would have preferred that you showed a photograph of Marilyn Monroe in that polka-dot dress she wore in The Misfits. But, hey, that's just me. Fully-clothed Japanese/Chinese couples probably turn some of your other readers on, and you have them to think about as well.
ReplyDeleteRHYMES WITH Trouble is that picture is a photograph and I'm trying to select notable paintings to accompany these sin poems. Perhaps you could write a fantasy poem about Marilyn Monroe yourself?
ReplyDelete- How many times did Mr Rhymes
- I do not know said Miss Monroe
Wow! It is 14 degrees here (F) on my mountain. But, I am in a sweet sweat reading your latest poem, Mr. Pudding. Methinks you know of what you speak!
ReplyDeletedirty sod
ReplyDeleteMOUNTAIN THYME It wasn't an easy poem to write but I hope it touches on a secret world we rarely explain.
ReplyDeleteEARL GRAY I'm not sure that "dirty sod" counts as meaningful commentary on serious poetry - where every word has been weighed and measured for suitability - but I guess Blogworld is a free planet so we can say what we want?