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melancholy passion of whores
sadness beguiled. she gets that way
when the rain makes curls in her hair
or when she’s been reading Plath.
she wants what I will not give up
my colors: autumn & dust; stigmatic brown in my eyes.
so she sprays those colors in her hair.
I admonish her with sullen berates.
are you a kept & devoted woman?
my lover – my violation – my whore?
I am, her whisper echoes. I am I am
she scouts the caverns of my heart
to unravel the cro-magnon desires that beat her
and beholds a lust that is furious & untamed
and a love that cannot be named.
she accepts my cruel hands, that sting
her rubified cheek, but she will not cry.
she regards me in silence if I ask her why.
we dance only when the music stops;
her orgasms ignite in the choreography of our sex.
she holds back my shell-shocked trembles,
when I sleep on her breasts.
in finding her, I lost something.
perhaps there is a heaven for the lost things,
and when she finds it, I will lose her.
I write her as she writes me,
in the blue water of a poem;
and in old romantic places, we are strangers…
(Art: Germa'n Peraire)
Published 4th Sep 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 9
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comments 8
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5th Sep 2016 1:29am
no one that i know of writes a good old fashioned whore poem quite like you my friend, i dare say, keep it up
5th Sep 2016 2:07am
"In old romantic places, we are strangers"
here is the melancholy that belies the passion - yet the desires are not just physical - each looks for the other in the other.
We are cavernous indeed
here is the melancholy that belies the passion - yet the desires are not just physical - each looks for the other in the other.
We are cavernous indeed
5th Sep 2016 2:49am
'I write her as she writes me,
in the blue water of a poem;
and in old romantic places, we are strangers… '
John,so beautiful and so,amazing!
in the blue water of a poem;
and in old romantic places, we are strangers… '
John,so beautiful and so,amazing!
5th Sep 2016 7:14am
I don't know why I lette you and your
pieces get to me..
My cherished, I just don't know.. I can't
even spawn runes for this one.
-Holwings
pieces get to me..
My cherished, I just don't know.. I can't
even spawn runes for this one.
-Holwings
5th Sep 2016 7:15am
Wonderful phrases uncovering insightful gems, John. Nicely worded throughout !
5th Sep 2016 8:50am
5th Sep 2016 8:50pm
More a voice of experience than romance. The fantasy can be set aside.
"she scouts the caverns of my heart
to unravel the cro-magnon desires that beat her
and beholds a lust that is furious & untamed
and a love that cannot be named."
The love might be lost but the passion remains in one of its darker forms. The whores understand and the best remain fully prepared, willing and well read. I'd just hide any copies of "The Bell Jar."
"she scouts the caverns of my heart
to unravel the cro-magnon desires that beat her
and beholds a lust that is furious & untamed
and a love that cannot be named."
The love might be lost but the passion remains in one of its darker forms. The whores understand and the best remain fully prepared, willing and well read. I'd just hide any copies of "The Bell Jar."
8th Sep 2016 1:02am
Wicked good poem, best one yet in such concise form... Another thought provoking ending that fits well poetically.. Good title too though it could be 'melancholic', up to you....
