I Like Closures – A poem


the muse rises from the ashes

smeared with the silver  dust  of the moon

sweeps me off my feet

and I ride through the night

 with him-

the wind beneath my wings.

*

we make love

pretend to be lovers

words sizzle

glow in our heat

our fingertips burn

with the touch

a flush rises through the groin

reaches the head

explodes

we imagine

we make love

in our heads

undress

word by word

fantasize

write our own erotic tales

we lay bare our bodies, heart and soul

we love the fluidity , the madness

of the words

as they melt

on our fervid bodies

the rest of the world collapses

words chain us to the bedpost

in a raw sexual ecstasy

a poem rises

like the fragrance  of

crushed violets

beneath us

your voice

brushes against me

like crisp cotton

hardens my nipples

black orchids

your eyes come alive

words

 swell and thrust

 rise and fall

 grasp and crush

and drown in a drizzle

salt rimmed cocktails

they moisten the lips

tequila shots

 my lips quiver

you resist

“I like closures “

you say

I sigh

Spent

I stare at the screen

a  light blinks dies

In steaming silence

I roll a joint

good for the head

the muse rises ….

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6 thoughts on “I Like Closures – A poem

  1. Every time a new meaning emerges as i read..do you realise how gifted you are?

    🙂 Thank you. I am just letting the muse take over and guide me. Glad I can still touch hearts, Keep visiting.

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  2. You evoke an age old archetype of the creative process erasing in soft strokes the line between sex and poetry. Both happen in the head primarily through the medium of the material, the body or the paper – “mixing memory with desire/ stirring dull roots with spring rain” falling from the muse. The reference to rolling joints and swigging tequila gel with the precondition of intoxication/inspiration for creation, and also the ecstatic oblivion at its high point. The theme of ‘closure’ is steeped in subjectivism – sorry for the academic jargon. I mean the personal is so entangled with the impersonal here, the muse takes on the contours of a real living being leaving its state of ideality. Good work Tiku. The line “unabashed about our nakedness” seems redundant after the openness of the preceding lines 🙂

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