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Image for the poem harlot

harlot's canto


wife, lover, whore: she walks many roads.
she labors as a woman does, to till the garden & gather
a raw harvest. to wash away the dirt & the crossings of
worms from the red & green bounty. to set a fair table &
feed the ones who hunger, in her house of straw.

she gives everything of herself, to the hands of the familiar,
(to the kiss of a stranger) when she lies in bed with a man.
she does not repent nor even name her sins, when she lies
in bed alone. she bears many crosses:  wife.  lover.  whore.

she says, if I call you, will you come?
I’m in a dark & lonely place, I tell her, you won’t find me.
and she says, I will find you.

being selfish, I take what she gives me. I take her love, & I
take her sex. she is wild like the wilderness, she is wet like
the rain, & she blows like the wind…

my desire is hard, my passion is erect. she reveals her entire
beauty, naked, as I am naked. pretty, as men have not
acknowledged. the ash of dead fires is in the aspect of her eyes;
the coppered filigree of cherry blossoms is in her hair.

she raids my brooding deportment like a pirate, intimidating me
with her fingers, her tongue & nipples. her toes make seismatic
shocks on my legs.

this strange gift that I carry inside me, this dolorous stream of
melted bitterroot, she tells me she wants it.
she calls me lover, she calls me adorable, she calls me hers.
she calls me she calls me! and I come…

when we lie together in subdued euphoria, she asks for almost
nothing, but the one thing she craves is greater than my everything.
I’ve searched inside my heart, & the gloaming there cannot be
penetrated, even with lanterns.

love is spectacularly an art, & I am but a broken soldier…


(Artist unknown)

Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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