Meet me at the motel.
I want to feel cheap and dirty,
as we open the sacred door to pleasures ancient
manifest in our flesh.
Let me feel your body, my body,
wrapped, enfolding, writhing,
into a single form,
like Wisteria and its victim.
Fuck me in a parking garage,
half-dressed,
I want to feel the cold of the concrete,
the silty grime of the city,
civilization's chaotic embrace,
and you...
Make love to me by the river's edge...
perhaps we'll come to know our true selves,
remembering our purist state,
no longer disillusioned by "reality."
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
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3 comments:
Welcome aboard Tim! This is my favorite of the two poems you've posted today. I really like the second stanza of this poem because of the final line "and you..." which renders the other participant secondary, like the speaker is saying "Oh yeah, I almost forgot... and you!" Pardon the pun, but the second stanza seems the most concrete as well.
I think the last stanza could use a little more of this concreteness to really add to the effect of the poem.
I love the "and you..." also. It's so selfish, but really sex can be extremely selfish. The grittiness is palpable. I want to take a shower after I read this. In a good way?
Yes, there is a strong sense of objectifying the other. Demanding that she meet you, fulfilling your wants. In this sense, I'm not sure if the "we" is fitting for the subject matter.
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