Lust in Love

“If they substituted the word ‘Lust’ for ‘Love’ in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.” ~ Sylvia Plath

 

Souls
can feed
on tamed kisses,
but flesh craves wild
lust.

Lust
can be
the best treat,
when the flesh feels
loved.

 

Passion, by Wiktoria Florek

 

a wee note…
elfchen (elevenie), five lines of free verse that dance like this: 1st line (1 word), 2nd line (2 words), 3rd line (3 words), 4th line (4 words), 5th line (1 word). I coupled these wee bits for Poets United’s Midweek Motif: Lust.

 

We Must Dare

I’m starting to think that Loki, the Norse god of mischief, has reincarnated in the shape of political news. Either that, or the air in my local pharmacy brings the raging crazy out of people. No fistfight, this time around, but only because the security guard on duty put an end to the lively discussion before the words of the pusher of buttons, the oozer of crappy-gold-plated rot, the orangey spite really got under every skin and caused a massive burst. I still can’t understand why they don’t change the channel to something less inflammable, like… The Short but Explosive Romance of Matchstick Girl and Dynamite Boy. Anyhoo, my pencil and I crafted the following blackout while waiting for my remedies:

All his illusions spread, plunder, dishearten… all.

 

The next blackout bit birthed rather interesting conversations. The ones that stuck with me (because I found them bemusing), were views that suggested that friendliness isn’t all that difficult if people really mean it. Nope, I’ve no idea what that means. Maybe the eyes of your brilliance are open wider than my own, and you’ll be able to tell me. I really wish to know how one can be friendly to all, without limitation, without thought, without knowing…

Unconditional friendliness is an art.

 

When I shared the bit below, I received a whole lot of agreement. This made me glad. I know, my Wicked Luvs, without clarification my gladness might seem a tad callous. But my delight was born out of knowing that every person who said “me too” to this blackout has loved. And we all know how the old saying goes, “It’s better to have loved and have been disappointed than to go around wondering why so many risk heart and sanity to get some.” Yes, I’m quite sure that’s how the saying goes. Really. Stop arguing already!

I know love…
and disappointment.

 

My last offering, for the day, is an invitation: now that horror is ordinary, and hope is turning into a mythical beast only seen by the innocent and the daring, we must dare to see, we must dare to think, we must dare to learn, we must…

Dare to hope.

We must, my Wicked Luvs.

 

Need Not Love Weird, Just Me

my Piano Man (showing the photo of a bottle): “Do you approve?”

me (squealing like a delighted maniac): “I want that bottle!”

my Piano Man: “Dead Guy Ale.”

me (half-choking on exclamation marks): “I want it!!!”

A few hours later, my Piano Man came home with two empty bottles of Dead Guy Ale for me to moon over. One of said bottles now resides next to my typewriter. I can glance at it while I’m writing. Every time I look at the skeleton, I grin… remembering the silly exchange that made it mine, basking in the bliss of having a love who knows exactly how to love me.

My sweet Piano Man is not a lover of creepy things (aside from me, that is). But our home is full of what many would probably think of as rather weird—bones, thorns, ashes that used to be alive, enough skulls to make you wonder if “skull fetish” shouldn’t be a thing, hammers, axes, random sticks… and my Piano Man never makes them feel unwelcome.

Some time ago, while I assisted in a Coming of Age dance ritual, the crone leading it (waves at Yudelis), said, “May your weird find a weird to love and be loved by”. I remember thinking, That’s freaking brilliant.

Years later, after I have lived and love and loved and loved… I believe in those wise words more than ever: the success of a relationship doesn’t depend on how similar or different those involved are from each other, but on how well they can love one another while remaining who they are (or, perhaps, while growing together into what they want to be).

he honors my heart
with treasures stripped of all meat,
thoughts of weird be damned