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Click hereWrought
Fresh from making love
I smell your perfumed scent
on my hands
When I touch my face
My thighs, my cock
Only an hour ago we lay impaled
Like the sharpened rods
in an iron gate
Fitting together so neatly
One would imagine
we might never be separated
without welding, hack and hammer
Come take my hand
We shall build a fence to withstand
All that mankind may rain on us
Locked together for eternity
From bedpost to the grave
Let me point out that when a women uses perfume or scent or body powders, even if only on the face, these fragrances are passed to the male making love to her and she making love to him, through hands and bodily contact including oral and vaginal sex, not to mention anal. A thorough love making session will often include these acts and afterward I assure you, and I can certainly on request present the evidence, that these fragrances as well as body fragrances will permeate ones entire body. Perhaps you are correct, I have very good olfactory organs (supersenor?) but I assure you the placement is normal, at least I think so. Please advise, where would they otherwise be? Love making is an art and a pursuit that pushes some men beyond the bounds of simple sexual relations.
This experience is not unique with only one woman, it has been my experience with many. One girlfriend who did not wear perfume, remarked after we made love and went out to eat,"God, we smell like sex." We laughed but she was correct!
As for your welcomed suggestion, I felt the iron fence was linked metaphorically to the act of intercourse, the interrelation of the parts, penetrating each other. A chain link fence seems to echo more of suppression to me. Perhaps a poem about world peace might benefit from a chain link fence as a metaphor for holding the peoples of the world together. But what do I know? I am just a silly man who thinks sex is the greatest thing on this planet and I try to memorialize my experiences in my silly poems. I have no pretense of being anything else. I am just, forgive me for the language, just fucking my way from the cradle to the grave and enjoying every minute of it. It certainly distracts from the unpleasant aspects of existence.
Anyway, sincere thanks for taking the time to read the poem and offer your comments! I look forward to more of your fine poems.
The idea is original and interesting. I do have some minor quibbles (I get how you could smell perfume while touching your face, but anything lower than that means you either are a supersensor or have odd olfactory gland placement). I like the fence imagery, but it might be even stronger using something with linked metal. I don't know what that would be, just a suggestion.
that was certainly different, and sustained, and not rhyming coups, my opin, organised, poetry without 'poetics' , not that it means anything to you, but here you arrive, I may have missed some more recent things, but here you think about the meaning and purpose, 5ed without my usual hemmin and hawin
Only an hour ago we lay impaled...
...
We shall build a fence to withstand
and the end...
From bedpost to the grave
well I like it
love poem. It is a love poem to me, but framed with erotica and all those great building metaphors that make the poem and title fit together neatly.
You are such an interesting writer. Thank you for the read.