Fleeting Libido

Crazy catches me –
semi-conscious/ zoned out –
body slams me,
hot mouth pressed on mine
suppressing objection
(as if I’d object)
working my juices
my mind overboard
passion flaming

I forget
who I am
where I am
yesterdays
tomorrow

Modesty intervenes
compelling flight –
flesh torn from flesh
prematurely –
this seduction,
taunting me in youth,
surprisingly vital still

I forget
who I am
where I am
yesterdays
tomorrow

Breathless,
heart palpitating
loins throbbing…
abandoned again.
It was only a ghost
a spectre from the past
mocking me –
false ecstasy.

(Linked to dVerse pub where desire and sexuality are on the board tonight.)

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23 comments

  1. vjearle, I’ve been thinking about my previous post about this poem and realize that my response – humor – has a lot to do with being 68. In my 50’s I would have felt the grief that I can see in your poem. I hope my response did not add to that grief. I want to honor your emotions and the raw honesty with which you write. Ultimately, we see everything as it relates to us, and I responded quickly to your post from where I am. Along with all the loses that come with growing old, there are some perks: fewer demands, even for sexual satisfaction, and more space for recovery.

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    1. Oh Jan, poetry (and prose) derives meaning from both the writer and the reader – perhaps more so from the audience. I love the feedback because that gives me a new a perspective too. No apologies needed. I really appreciate the time you take to visit and respond

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  2. The title sets the tone — I really like the repetition of the “I forget…” stanza, adding into the false sense of ecstasy and its melancholy in abandonment. The buildup is strong and passionate that with the unraveling of the twist, it leaves one hanging, and needing, for this desire to be subsumed. But that’s how it is sometimes. The idea resonated with me.

    Liked by 1 person

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