Chilling Heat

“The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre-
To be redeemed from fire by fire
[or, at least, to get even more
sizzled by fiery cheekiness]
.”
~ T.S. Eliot [+ a muse gone wild]

 

Our love lies
under snow curtains
warmed by hope,
singing of spring boons
while frost bites on ears.

If your flesh loses all warmth, my girl, I’d want you still.

I hear
you joke about
falling hard for a frigid girl,
and think, Necrophilia
isn’t cool.

To escape your chilling heat, I’d barbecue your bosom.

 

 

the wee notes…
– partly inspired by Fireblossom’s hysterical post, “How Not to Write a Love Poem”, which sardonically says that when poetizing love, a poet should “Use ‘burning’ and all its variations, liberally: Burning lips, fiery fingertips, barbecued bosom…” I’ve been burning to use the phrase “barbecued bosom”, or something like it, ever since. Yes, I cackled (and cringed) after I wrote this.
– this piece contains a tanka, a cinquain, and two self-proclaimed free verses.
– for the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Hedgewitch’s Friday 55.

53 thoughts on “Chilling Heat

  1. Gosh this is wonderfully sensuous!💖 I love the idea of being warmed by hope and smiled at “barbecue your bosom.” Thank you so much for writing to the prompt, gorgeous💖

     

  2. Oh I love this one. Yes getting over loving a frigid girl would have to by barbecuing something. Her bosom is a great choice. Got me smiling!

  3. I laughed all the way through Magaly. I can remember years ago when my wife and I returned home one winter’s day and on getting to bed I found that she too was frozen or appeared to be. Cuddling helped but her feet remained stubborn unresponsive and remained that way until I fell asleep.

  4. I like this, Magaly. Like your starting as innocent as a child peering out the frosted window this morning and dreaming of fun and cold pain playing out there. Then you shifted to grown up naughty big time. I can’t imagine burning my bosom, even pulling a hair is painful for me.
    A nice, daring write for us to enjoy while conjuring up a partner’s cold feet.
    ..

  5. laughing, I think I’d be scared if someone wanted to barbecue my bosom. Did it really say that? Love your poem, the heat and the ice. The paragraph and following line is so romantic …. and then you flip it!

  6. Love under snow is cool – necrophilia isn’t (though I can’t claim to have tried it…)
    Barbecuing bosoms – eek! You are indeed wicked!
    Love your story!
    Anna :o]

  7. Toxic relationships don’t always make people into cannibals, but it’s better to leave than go full Hannibal Lecter.

  8. Well, it was my turn to cackle, I admit, though actually, you manage to make the bosoms take themselves seriously–outside cold and inner heat, and the reverse, which in my opinion is worse, all make a metaphoric blaze in your lines, and miraculously avoid Shay’s pitfalls in the process. I love the first lines as well, but also the ..er,…fiery conclusion. Thanks for playing, dear Magaly, and making me think of Burnin for You (the Blue Oyster Cult song) mixed with T.S Eliot and Wallace Stevens’ Snowman for a fine and pop/devilish cocktail.

  9. What a wonderful use of so many musings!!!! Even using the “burning” couldn’t quench the fun and folly of this one. Barbecued Bosom is probably very tasty and best served with a side of thighs!!!! Loved it!!

  10. The ending is a towering masterpiece of slow-cooked lunch counter verse! What’s sauce for the goose works on barbecue as well, as the immortal “Texas” Joe Shakespeare once said, around a mouthful of pulled pork. Would I pull your leg? Pretend you don’t notice the flush creeping up my decolletage. 😉

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