Good Girls don’t write about sex
Overtly
They disguise their want in paralipsis
And allegory
Hoping the one they wrote it for
Reads in between watery lines
Just as we think we know and we don’t know
How to play a violin to life
What specific string to rub dulce, with bow and how?
To produce the exact sound
Of heaven
For we rely on machines purchased
In stores that wrap them in paper and
Blush behind their make-up
To soften the blow of loneliness
They even offer them in pink with ears.
I decided long ago to
Forgo batteries and think of you instead
With my flesh and my bones
Nothing more but those images in my head
Of you lying back unclothed
Ready for feasting
I’m long past apologizing
For my need at midday to think
About sex
Women do it too
Maybe not in the office bathroom with a magazine
Or tiny screen zooming in
But quieter, and softer, lying in the bath
Lights out, candles giving off waxy
Myth
The world is changed outside and we
No longer obey fluorescent lights
I dim ours and the moon in turn
Shies from long curtains
In dusk I see the curves of you
Reminding me, as if I needed reminder
Of why I think of you all the long day
And how and in what ways
For I don’t believe there will be a time
I’ll stop boiling my blood in imagining
And the moment we come together
Is ever more for waiting
It seems at times I wait, more than I actually find
Perhaps the rejoinder of fantasy is
We can inhabit it more, than what lies real
Yet as you undress, I know
Nothing I can conjure up, can compete
With the real feel of your skin against mine
The human touch of our hands enjoined
I may be called creative, but I could never
Describe those pleasured hours well
We are it seems, beyond all living illustration
For beauty when it is actual
Is not the plastic doll on the shelf
Nor her vibrating friend, who promises
To get you off so easily.
Some things are worth waiting for
Some people are necessary, chasing eternal
For even one night with you, would suffice
Against a hundred with someone else
I cannot replace what you do to my heart
Every time I see you turn a corner
And smile that crooked smile of yours
Eyes glinting, a little cocked half walk, half run
We meet in our dreams
We stay together when apart
It is the sum of us
We add up
Even as everything else
Does not
❤ Le sigh…
Quite beautiful, Candice and poignant at the same time 😀
Gorgeous ❤🔥🔥
oh my… well then… this is so wonderful. I love the underlying sensuality, the need, the desire, boiling beneath the surface, at the edges. It is gently reminders which also make me think of painted nails edging along soft curves. The passion we all desire… oh man, yep, I love this.
Is it possible to imagine better than the real moment, the actual touch of living flesh to flesh? In a dream, perhaps the conjured can measure up. But longing has its own rules when even a pale invocation will not cease to occupy and stir remembered stimulation.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Fantasy and Reality
Aww, so cute & real & sexy & intimate 🔥 🌈 🔥 G xx
Love poem writer extraordinaire.
“Every time I see you turn a corner
And smile that crooked smile of yours
Eyes glinting, a little cocked half walk, half run
We meet in our dreams
We stay together when apart”
The passion we all desire ❤️
Thank you brother
Thank you dearest Charlie my friend 💗
Le ❤️
Yes. That’s for sure.
🙂
In praise of the human touch – and the picture worth a smile
I love the opening to this as I feel that it is something pretty universal, that masking of true feelings behind words, and the hoping that their true intentions are ‘read’. And yes, there is nothing as true as touch. Beautiful, Candace.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet and commented:
MATURE MATERIAL – Come and enjoy!
You made me blush!!
🙏
So beautiful!!!!
Love the photo ! (thank you dearling)