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vintage Paris
I abuse her, attempt to humiliate her;
I tell her to hate me. if she did, I could go
knowing she would not hurt.
put absinthe on the plaintive chords of a lovesong.
place them on her tongue, & she will swallow.
it builds a small fire in her belly, & she needs to purge;
leaks from the juncture of her thighs, thick & creamy –
that’s where I come to lick.
as a voyeur, she might glance through the window of a
starlite motel, & observe me composing for a random lover;
it’s always the girl who is naked.
I keep an album of the unclothed parts of her,
objects of beauty by which she is not shamed,
as a photographic journal of her perversity.
I attach metaphors for the cruelty of affection, dab them
on her face like droplettes of Lancome or ololiuqui;
they inspire her tears, & make her beautiful.
on a night when the moon was red & the stars exploded into
black holes, I was drunk on the fragrance of her hair. like Rumi,
whose lips got lost on the way to a kiss – as drunk as that.
we searched for a tragic romance in the flames of love,
and found it in the ashes of fucking…
(Art: Mafalda Silva)
Published 6th Dec 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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6th Dec 2016 6:48am
6th Dec 2016 8:31am
A tragic romance is always left in a smoldering bed of ash after the flame.
Stunning work, John, and nice touch with the artistic, black and white photo...
Stunning work, John, and nice touch with the artistic, black and white photo...
6th Dec 2016 1:58pm
I enjoyed this poem a lot. It's elegiac and even mystical, evoking the sense of a plaintive song, like the tone found in certain cowboy songs, a la "The Streets of Laredo", and French Jazz compositions. To me, the strongest image of the poem is of the woman looking through the motel window at the narrator and his new lover. Thank you for the read.
Anonymous
6th Dec 2016 4:18pm
There was a shock factor here which at first was uncomfortable but the more i read the more i wanted to get inside these characters who seem mirrored reflection of each other.
Anonymous
7th Dec 2016 00:15am
John....smh*...these lines...sweet baby lawd...
"I attach metaphors for the cruelty of affection, dab them
on her face like droplettes of Lancome or ololiuqui;
they inspire her tears, & make her beautiful."
With love, always - Taryn xoxo
"I attach metaphors for the cruelty of affection, dab them
on her face like droplettes of Lancome or ololiuqui;
they inspire her tears, & make her beautiful."
With love, always - Taryn xoxo
7th Dec 2016 00:21am
I agree with Taryn about that line being great.... This poem is so artistically written and ended, the words are like brushstrokes on canvass....
7th Dec 2016 9:49am
"I keep an album of the unclothed parts of her,
objects of beauty by which she is not shamed,
as a photographic journal of her perversity" > this stanza really speaks to my imagination, I can't really describe what it does to me, but it will linger for a while...
You have a beautifully dark pen, John!
objects of beauty by which she is not shamed,
as a photographic journal of her perversity" > this stanza really speaks to my imagination, I can't really describe what it does to me, but it will linger for a while...
You have a beautifully dark pen, John!
Anonymous
7th Dec 2016 1:50pm
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