Oh, my imagination is on overdrive! I see luscious lips, passions reeling, and moistness. š
Photo: pixabay.com
Today I spoke to you in
a language so intense,
with more love than latin,
and most certainly french,
a language that feels,
as tongues speak of ecstasy,
and lips are guided by heart,
a veritable feast on
which to gorge,
yet never sated.
Ā©Paul Vincent Cannon
Paul, pvcann.com
You’ll understand why I commented “If it were possible to get inside your brain as you write these pieces, I wouldnāt be able to finish my sentences. The passion with which you write, itās beyond exciting, bordering on excruciating ecstasy. Someone hold me, Iām about to faint. Iām weakā¦” Enjoy! š
When they say someone is driven to distraction
canāt stop thinking about ā¦
I imagine
a woman running in the rain
newspaper overhead, painted nails
pursed lips, the crook of a smile despite
her hose getting wet, soaking her clavicle, glistening like
some jewel in a torrent might
suddenly fruit
it reminds me of the first time I heard Suzanne Vega sing
not knowing she was singing for a woman
but something in the detail caught my eye
how she felt the same hot breath, steaming glass
lost bra strap, showing slip, untucked blouse
a stray hair, falling in her eyes, it took all of my
self possession not to reach across and brush it
back into place
although Iād rather press my face
into her neck and lose myself to the sound
of rain and tempests, growing inside me
wordlessly showing her the crocheted waves
with every brush stroke
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Who wouldn’t want to be caught up in this moment? š
Totems she left behind
what lost?
What gained?
cinereal clouds pierce cimmerian dusk
your fingers fastening in my hair
we interlaced in one another
le plus vieux pont, la plus jeune Ć©motion
lineament of women,
crossing from mortal to sempiternal
drawing you to me, redolent with love-making
I empty myself inside you, like flowers plucked will dry
and retain their incense
your neck a budding posy of marble obsidian, onyx, malachite, rose quartz
pillowed thighs, yielding beneath entreaty
a woman is nectar, ambrosia, a mist on the breath of dusk
her center a temple to invoke
donne-moi ta soif laissez-moi vous rassasier
entreat the reciting of capture til we ripen into rapture
wordless in renewal you lend me promise,
I bestow the eternal endeavor turning metal dial,
through tempest comes outlying supplication of wireless reverie
Dormir sous les vagues
itās 1999 again and weāre drying our wet socks on hotā¦
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My comment reflects how I feel about this piece. May it touch you as deeply as it did me…
“Le sighā¦ This.is.so.damn.good!!! PREACH and show the world what love and hate resembles. Tell them so strong that the times and their minds change. Oh, Beauty, you leave me breathless. ā¤”
They donāt want to hear about you
youāre not their kind
color, height, smell and gait
sets you apart, making you unpalatable
cast out from something you never belonged to
your back is curved before you hit the ground
sans parachute
cowing in utero to the inevitability of rejection
this is you, yellow girl, jaundiced before birth
you enter the world with a cigarette in one gnarled hand
the other high in protest
Gloria Steinem. could learn a thing or two about
your resolve
while she grew up in affluence and chose her metal
you were given nothing but inherited disease and
a penchant for purposing
all this in the time when women were
supposed to cross their legs in polite company
and open them for their husbands every whim
it disgusted you, the hypocrisy of hate
people at your Baptist church crowing gospel
calling you sinner when they causedā¦
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