( a little poem I wrote for the lovely Ms. T, who...well...is growing up)
So soon you'll find out that the rumours aren't true
The sky won't open up and bathe your newly awakened body in curves of satin or leather
But..at least... neither will you now have to swagger as if you just slid off the Eiffel Tower
And though there may be a small rusty smudge, there will be no spilling of intestines or riding out the door on a crimson river
And no stone-throwing, red-letter-wearing party will ensue-
Honey, no one can tell just by looking at you.
Some sex sticks
meaningless as a toaster, dense as peanut butter
though you may not mind it on the roof of your mouth
Sometimes see it swell out of hurt- like a blister
you'll want to pop the pressure
but beware of infections that may later fester
And once you are open for business, you're not open 24 hours
Sometimes you'll want to toss your contraceptive contraptions out the window
lock yourself tight at the knees
You may dream of nunneries
Sometimes you'll stumble into it
spin flip dizzy and not worry where you fall
Your back will bend into templed architecture
You will want to be consumed
For to be a lover in love you must be a phoenix
and you must burn to emerge
After times like this when you are still and spent
It will feel as natural as an ocean...
and as humbling...
and...as salty.
But there may
be Next Days
when you have the feeling of an abandoned sock- the sort that seems to have never really come from anywhere
Yes-there may be the sort of sex
that pulls a wince from your eye and makes you want to look away
But remember:
Keep your eyes on the road
You don't have to look back
Sometimes you're gonna need to leave the past where it's at.
