by Bill Noble
(03/14/07)
1. -- 9.
For Valentine's Day 2007, I promised to write a poem for my beloved -- and fellow CS editor -- Desireé, every day of February, and to present them to her bright and early each morning. Here they are, all twenty-eight, a sometimes silly, sometimes earnest, sometimes far too disclosing biography of our erotic life and of our love. These first nine are mostly self-explanatory, except perhaps for the haiku, which is a teasing reference to a surprise I sprang on her in the middle of our being shot for a Comstock Films DVD. I'll get in terrible trouble for telling you that.
1.
Covey Calling
Quail calling on the hill
through the first slant of sun,
wand locked between your thighs,
me inside you.
Nothing else.
2.
Do Yourself
with me, I say, and, quick as that, you do
do yourself -- you wrap one graceful hand
around my stiff and eager stalk and smear
its mushroom cap into the warm wet right
there.
Two of-a-sudden gulps -- of astonishment,
of air. You feel everything: your grasping
hand, our slipperiness, the cap-cleft that
slithers your clit, that mad almost-in and
almost-out.
I feel it too, love, every frill and furbelow,
that accelerating grind over the hard pearl
of desperate pleasure, your frenzied hips,
your nails, digging at my shoulder blades,
until
Now! you say, and plunge me in. One of us
howls, or grunts. We both pump and thrust,
faster, and faster, till you seize up tight and
come. Stop! you bellow and I press harder
and harder
against your pelvic bone and you keep right
on climaxing and geysering until you flood
my balls and inundate my thighs and drown
the sheets -- one of the ways, lover, that you
do yourself.
3.
What it's like when you hold my cock as we fall asleep:
Swell.
4.
So much of masculine identity is predicated on self-control and invulnerability. Yet . . . these very restrictions lead many men to other venues of self-expression. In the absence of a more developed verbal narrative of the self, the body becomes a vital language, a conduit for emotional intimacy. While much has been written about the aggressive manifestations of male sexuality, it is not sufficiently appreciated that the erotic realm also offers men a restorative experience for their more tender side. The body is our original mother tongue, and for a lot of men it remains the only language for closeness that hasn't been spoiled. Through sex, men can recapture the pure pleasure of connection without having to compress their hard-to-articulate needs into the prison of words.
--Esther Perel, Mating in Captivity
Making spoons in the morning.
Sliding through slippery folds.
Slip-sliding. Lots more sliding.
Jeez, you're driving me crazy!
Yup.
5.
The In-Front-of-God-and-Man Purple-Dildo Haiku
Useless to conceal
the ka-boom of your response.
Cameras don't lie.
6.
Sausage and soul
Burnt sausage and soul
This was our Sunday of sausage and soul
Cherries and roses and magic abed
Dreams of vacations afloat in our heads
Sausage and soul
Burnt sausage and soul
This was our Sunday of sausage and soul
Planning directives and choosing a rose
Giggling aloud over sexy black clothes
Sausage and soul
Burnt sausage and soul
This was our Sunday of sausage and soul
Love me or leave me but never forget
The reason your underwear got quite so wet
Sausage and soul
Burnt sausage and soul
Celebrate Sundays of sausage and soul
7.
Since New Year, through frost and rain,
their patient upright buds grew swollen,
till now, without the slightest of kisses,
magnolias open their pink dusky petals.
8.
Easy to see all the ways we fall down,
the quiet ways we sell ourselves short,
the slow drifting loose from our magic.
Still, look how rich this relationship is,
how much its risk and incompleteness
lies at the heart of our love and passion.
How much I desire you.
9.
Soft. That's what
your other lover
is. She wants to be
hard. Sometimes
I long to be soft.
...next issue...10 thru 18
The Poet's Companion - by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux