deepundergroundpoetry.com
woman is the mirror of man
when I look at her, I want to see something of myself.
not the physical: she is beautiful & I am not.
how she reflects; how she absorbs.
if I could paint, I’d put blue where she has yellow, whirlwinds
where she has floating leaves. the sun would be close enough
to burn her field of wildflowers to a desert.
she has a poetry within her that attempts to disguise the harsh
aspect of love, applying metaphors like makeup, to make it a
lyrical geisha, & call it romance. she brings me her broken poem
& I crawl into her, to force my surreal lexicon out of her throat,
to be the male vibration of her femaleness. out of the cacophony,
we deliver a song.
my perversions ignite like solar flares when I observe her naked
displays, a seductive rush that breaks me down to a caveman.
she wouldn’t take from another man the humiliation that I put on
her. I need to punish her for loving me.
the whore that I discovered inside her had been hiding there a
long time. she needed a man, drifter or soldier or poet, to gun
down the shadows in her heart & fill the craving between her
legs, & that is why a woman takes a lover.
I kiss her mouth hard, & when I’m done with it, I kiss every other
part of her. she knows my passion, how it’s born out of agony; it
lives & dies & then it rises from its own grave, & no matter how
hard she sucks, she’ll never suck that out of me.
I see deep down the gray caverns of her eyes, deeper than the belly
of a mountain or the soul of an ocean –
and I know the heartbreak inside her is me…
(Art: M. McMichaels)
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