 |
| Click image for more vignettes |
Sometimes, passing that house, Goines felt a thing
whispering in his ear that he found hard
to dismiss, something he felt strong desire
to contemplate – a ghostly fragrance, soft,
a haunting presence, like an absent love,
like a note reminding him to question,
to not push aside his need to question:
Had she who used to live there had a thing
for him, been prompted by a sort of love?
After chatting, she seemed to find leaving hard.Had she felt for Goines something warm and soft,
springing from depths of longing or desire?
Goines in older age yet felt keen desire.
His strength and balance were now in question.
His once sharp memories were whithered soft –
things he believed he did now seemed no thing.
His manly muscles could barely get hard.
But living stronger now in Goines was love.
As Goines aged, more mysterious had love
become. Less fit for erotic desire,
with brittle bones and flabby muscles hard
to exercise in sex, Goines had to question:
How could that urging, strong, erotic thing
command him still, its means gone old and soft?
Intimacy needed more than limp and soft
to enter, carry through, and complete love.
Were a woman wanting that sort of thing
with Goines to signal him sexy desire,
could he answer to her hopeful question,
yes, he would touch her, he would hold her hard?
He could do that, he would not find that hard.
A woman was dear, invitingly soft,
and brave to pose so direct a question.
She could be confident that Goines would love
her, would respond to her open desire
and conjugate with her in amorous thing.
It would not be hard to enact his love,
let his soft feelings mount up to desire,
answer her bold question with a kind thing.
_______________
Note: The cover image is Luis Morris’ “Artist’s Muse,” (2009).
| Copyright © 2022 by Moristotle |
Interesting, about the woman that lived in the house. I have always felt most attracted to those women most attracted to me, and I sense a kinship here. As for the touching and softness, Cindy and I have been "helping each other over the finish line" for some time now, and it is true that love becomes more than physical intimacy as we mature, although one hopes that still occurs. I could state the obvious-"there's an app for that"-AKA the little blue pill. Wow, first time I took one, it was like, "Honey, I'm hooooome!" Of course not everyone can take it. But that desire, that flame is still burning strong. We never minded if the other admired someone else; I told her a long time ago if she didn't like men she wouldn't be much use to me, and she understands I like women too. However, the tendency of some men to step on their dicks around a beautiful woman always disgusted me, as do women who expect it. No "PDA's" in our relationship-no "public displays of attraction", that is. A humorous remark may be in order, such as when the young girls at the springs walk by in thongs, no more cloth than you could mail in a #10 envelope with no extra postage, or when looking down into a boat at the brown young man's buttcrack and I comment on the odd anchor and she says, "What anchor?" We got this down...
ReplyDeleteGoines is so grateful for your understanding – validating – comment. And I am too.
DeleteThe poet who introduced me to sestinas (Columnist André Duvall) gave this succinct review:
ReplyDeleteYour sestina is brilliantly executed. The middle stanzas are much clearer in their meaning. You found a way to elucidate your meanings of hard and soft, but in ways that did not sacrifice artistry.