- Erotic Poetry
- Fantasy
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I imagine myself to be The Lady.
Not ascendant, superior, but rather
Courtesan:
silk-draped, silver-tipped, cultured whore.
Prize.
Bauble.
Kept.
I enjoy that word.
Kept.
It resonates.
It tastes like rich things on my tongue.
Rare dishes or
Gentleman's flesh.
Peacock blue and sunlit copper, I drift
Through the hedge mazes of my cage, my keeper's prey.
I might be pulled into an alcove,
Pressed with the banal.
After each fall, we will climb again to that elegant peak and there
He'll throw me down again.
- COMMENTS
JamesCiriacoalmost 15 years agoI love the way you've combined the raw and the delicate. Your technique is focused most clearly in phrases like, "silver-tipped, cultured whore," and "the hedge mazes of my cage," but it works throughout the poem. This is a caviar piece.
