ODE 3

A love note

The tension
Mind and body just don’t see eye to eye.  I long for the visit that will expand my understanding of you.  To sit and talk about the things that interest you, that revolt you, the passions of your former life and the goals of your future, these are dainties that feed the admiration and interest of my mind.  Would you rather see me in a suit or casual clothing, (and I can tell you whether I like you in a dress or skirt and blouse or in short pants) longer or shorter hair, and how do you feel about moustaches?  These are tension enough for my mind.  I feed off your opinions.  Perhaps it is your voice that I consume, knowing by ear that you spend your energy on me and the exercise of intellect is for my benefit.

My eyes betray me.  No sooner do I see you than I recuse my brain from the case.  My heart (O base betrayer and crooked guide!) takes the bench and rules the courtroom of my actions.  I begin to see you in parts of a whole and that excites me beyond rational horizons.  There is no perceptible boundary that I pass to come to this, it is as though it has always been this way, and my memories of our discussions of work and theory and style have all been about the bodies.  The automatic transmission, super-glide as it were, of my transition is startling to you at times, but welcomed as you gather me into your arms for the first sweet kiss.

These parts, so exceptional, are meant for me, and I inventory each one, holding it up to my scrutiny as one might hold up the rarest gem to sunlight, with pleasure laughing at his fortune to have such pricelessness in his grasp. 

The Inventory
Eyes:  Eyes that sparkle and hint of interest – note I do not say desire, though that be more than contained in interest, indeed is the color of it – they search my own for signs that my thoughts might be different than the last time they looked, or the same.  These eyes that look at me through kisses and caresses, to seek…what?  If approval, you have it, if messages, only in my man’s code can I respond, in fear? I think not.  In desire then, that I might read the passionate desire behind them and find in the code the perfect response that will explode the bloom of life and the allow you to manifest the expression of your sexual being.

Lips:  Not the sole province of our physical connection, but the primary spot most surely.  It all begins at your lips, and there it is sweetest because these similar organs of our desire have such close tastes, and I know I will go from and come back to these no matter whether I stray to top of your head or soles of your feet and my lips will be welcome. 

Ears:  They hear my cries and you respond with lips and hands and body to fulfill my longing needs.  The art of penetration begins here and sends the unqualified message of desire to all parts of your body.  So choice and delicate, they caution me to careful caress more often than to unabashed consumption, yet there are no guarantees.

Neck:  That which is only mine in passing, with graceful curve of soft inviting flesh.  That I have put my mouth’s tattoo my mouth on this zone of sensitivity and seen you walk among men is plenty to stoke the coals of my desire to full flame by but thinking of it.  I would, as the thieves of the old west, take his brand and alter it subtly to mark this district as mine, if only for a while.  And your neck, it leads to your breast…

Breast:  That which is life-giving and softest north of your naval I’ve often torn and rampaged over, bringing the heights of sensation and the depths of redness and sensitivity.  For this I regret, but only after the damage is done to you.  You’ve made me pay of late, with comparable ministrations that I feel over time and am reminded of my selfish folly.  Yet I did not come to talk of this, but of the beauty and delicious flavor that the buds of your breast provide.  A place for me to sharpen my teeth on – but no, I’ll stop that and focus on kneading the sweetness of them to my mouth and be a barbarian no more.  And the soft white curve of the body that holds the nipple – I still find imaginary grains of honey sugar on these as I gently lick in circles ever widening and contracting.  No such taste is found if I tear into these and gnaw the yielding flesh, but a flavor but no less intoxicating is loosed by stronger ministrations.

I can not go on right now.  My heart pounds and my soul yearns.  My head is filled and has no room for more of this, nor work or other intercourse with my peers.  Now in my mind only the vision that I paint that you would not recognize for its terrible beauty, my vision of you.

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