Flesh

 

is the sweep of a wind

that catches long

flowing hair

curling it around into

a delicate knot

about a passing stranger’s throat

as if it were raising

a skirt to reveal

the mortality of us all

and the lust for eternity

that cries out

at the coming of night

luring each to that transient prison

of orgasmic pleasure called love

breathed from the source unknown.

 

first published in Living With a Stranger: self portrait, 1993.  Also published in Love is Just Lust Misspelled, 1994.

 

There was originally a visual part to this poem, but it is lost in this rendering.  The lines were off-set in a tiered way to imply a serpentine motion.  I may figure it out by the time the next online chapbook gets figured out too (smile).

Advertisements

About johnsmithiiimxiii

John Smith, IIMXIII is the avatar of an award winning poet, artist, etc. who still lives in the Palouse country of the Pacific NW. He has not received much notice with his prose . . . but as his avatar, I hope that he keeps plugging along.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: