An Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Sunday Mini-Challenge: Paramour
“Write about sex, sexualized experience, sexless burning, the kiss of strange winds, the sexiness of death. Write about the arrow’s sheer barb. Or whatever else the paramour might mean to you—say, the strange wood we enter starting the next poem.
Write an original poem about your encounter with the paramour(s), what you found and what you learned.
It’s Poetry 101, sixth-century-BC style. Hit us with your best shot!”
I chose to write about lyrical lovers, poetic paramours who exist in the woods and meadows of my mind. What have they taught me? Just how lonely a lyrical, poetic bed can be.
Please note: given the nature of the challenge, this post, while not graphic, is more adult in content than usual.
Sir Frank Dicksee; La Belle Dame Sans Merci
“paramour” tasteful, poetic, slightest smell of lust and must amid the dusky rose and wild lavender, nuzzle deep
“inamorato” erotic, ferocious, tangled sheets, entangled lives, arousals, passion in the bed, on the floor, in the shower
“leannán” ancient echoes, faerie-spirit on mossen forest floor, kisses of thimbleberry wine, jam sweet, moistness sweeter
“elskhugi” by the sword, by the blood, taken, wielding axes, yielding bodies, arching backs in piles of fur
“amasiunculus” sensations of the oral poet, words and tongue mingle in triangle, beginning/end
My poetic paramours, lyric lovers,
all forged in fiction,
all formed from feelings that make body ache,
oh sensations of sweet release, elusive as a unicorn,
quested by a knight in tarnished armour
breast caresses, deep-tongued kisses, fingers, rubbing, response, hardness
sweat, breath intake, explosions of exquisite delight
electric shockwaves of unbearable pleasure . . .
I awake encased in my sweat, my dreams, my unmet desires
An imprint on the sheets of my poetic paramours curled away from me in bed