Friday, January 9, 2009
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,I
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new
I am so restless these days.... moody and intense, capricious and contrary.
Anxiety rides my back like an angst-driven hag from legend, digging sharp claws into the tender line of neck and nipping at my restlessness until I feel like throwing my head to the sky and howling like a rabid dog into the grey of a winter sky ...
I prowl in the complicated passageways of time and memory and sniff out the nuggets of possibilities that could have been and wonder at the complicated byways of thought and desire.
The flesh on my back tingles with remembered sensations while the tug of Want sends reverberations of need along nerve-endings I thought dead. I want to be controlled. I want to be mastered and used and abused. I want to choke on the hot muscled need in my mouth the salty tang of desire and demand trickling down my throat.
I feel bereft, lost... a trailing shadow of what once was, a “palely loitering” spectre drifting on substantial thought towards oblivion and the end of days.
Thoughts thunder in on cloven hoofed steeds , snorting and pawing rage into the rivers of despair etching arroyos of want through the frozen landscape of my id. The Need rides me harshly, slashing Want into the soft pale flesh of my straining flanks, twisting lust into nipples crimson and swollen with frustration and memories.
Not for me softness or sweetness and the soft, butterfly hovering kiss of tentative questioning pleading. No... the Want lusts for hands gripping curls, tugging at the roots and inciting thrashing rage. Need growls for teeth fastened in taut shoulder, the hot, wet battering realness of personified demand thrusting harshly into swollen softness and clinging hotness. I want to be breached, taken, conquered, no quarter given, no surrender possible.
I want to feel the slash of desire against my back, etching ownership into pale flesh and feel against the delicate, throbbing line of neck the exquisite lick of cold, hard steel. I close my eyes and remember the hot aching sting as steel licks acquiescence into the proud resistance of my warrior’s heart and feel the soft sweep of delicious agony as flesh and spirit sigh their submission.
Instead, I sit quietly in the arid, frigid wasteland of my thoughts and remember .... once I was wanted.
And this is why I soujourn here
alone and palely loitering
Though the sedge has withered from the lake
and no birds sing.
(La Belle Dame Sans Merci, John Keats)