Poetry (76)

Hello Escritori,

The night before the day this poem was written I was TRYING to get to sleep and the phrase that is so integral to this poem kept going round in my head, (no news to report don’t worry.) Then I was kept up by the rhymes of a male speaker, and through his voice, this poem sort of happened and then I polished it in the morning.

It just proves as I always say: no one chooses when the Muse amuses.

This is perhaps the most lyrical thing, it terms of its ability to be set to music, that I’ve ever written, probably. It’s quite long. And I get different impressions whenever I read it. And this is as mushy as I’ll get.

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We Have Been Married a Week

We have been married a week

And this woman who

Smells of praline

Is God-contracted

To sleep in my bed.

We have been married a week.

 

We have been married a week

And when we turn out the light

Nothing happens

Because she said:

“If I sleep beside you

And you do not hurt me

I’ll know that you’re trustworthy.

And then from that trust

Because we can, and we must

We will get on happily.”

We have been married a week.

 

We have been married a week

And you are already ready

Whenever we sleep.

That strange double-shelled

Crustecean, your bra

Once fell from the chair to the floor

But I lament that I’m never there

To see it escape

(With such flair)

Your voluptuous form

For the deep it adores.

We have been married a week.

 

We have been married a week

And last night you wore a spaghetti strap top

It is the nakedest with me that you’ve been

But you still kept to your side

Though you’ve rights as my bride

I wish you would hunger for me.

Perhaps I was wrong

But traced down your arm

With a fingertip

While you were asleep.

I prayed for the day when you’d turn

And you’d say, “By chance, love, are you awake?”

And then you’d tell me under the pall of night

Of all of the things and the ways that you’d like

And I vow now, I’d attentively comply,

We have been married a week.

 

We have been married a week

And you have a starburst

Of freckles on your cheek

You skin is caramel and as well

Your freckles are chocolate chips.

I wonder, I wonder, forgive if I blunder

If the taste would transfer to my lips?

We have been married a week.

 

We have been married a week

And you often wear socks to bed,

But if scientists speak true

When your feet are warmed through

You orgasm better,

(I say this without shame or regret.)

Indeed, O would be my favourite letter

Were I not wishing pleasure for U.

 

You are my bride

Snuggle into my side

Even if you are shy and feign sleep.

You are my wife,

I’ll gladly give you my warmth

For we have been married a week.

 

(© Copyright Pola Negri, 03/02/2017.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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