{"id":219,"date":"2011-05-19T10:19:16","date_gmt":"2011-05-19T10:19:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=219"},"modified":"2011-09-24T10:18:35","modified_gmt":"2011-09-24T10:18:35","slug":"salim-gold","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/writings\/poetry\/salim-gold\/","title":{"rendered":"Salim Gold"},"content":{"rendered":"

Crusade<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

One lover\u2019s lips spill into another\u2019s;<\/p>\n

Our two combined thighs bandy up and down;<\/p>\n

One flesh confronts and conforms to the next\u2014<\/p>\n

Until we\u2019re shouting, organ by organ.<\/p>\n

When I breach your castle\u2019s molten marble,<\/p>\n

I please you by seizing every treasure;<\/p>\n

I rampage in unmistakable dark,<\/p>\n

And don\u2019t rest til the sun\u2019s exhausted.<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s drink wine, not tears.\u00a0 Light inflames<\/p>\n

The night, but dawn\u2019s not yet due or dew.<\/p>\n

Your skin kindles voluptuously silver;<\/p>\n

Your limbs pale in the radiant dark.<\/p>\n

Look now!\u00a0 The bed\u2019s gleaming!\u00a0 It\u2019s consequence<\/p>\n

Of ourselves:\u00a0 We shine best when we melt most.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

To the Poets<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

A poet should be raw, so Passion<\/em> chafes<\/p>\n

And hurts him to philosophies as black<\/p>\n

As ink.\u00a0 To be as definite as Death<\/em> is<\/p>\n

The foolishness of prophets, says Rumi.<\/p>\n

Love<\/em> is always squander, not a hoarding;<\/p>\n

One wallows in the squalor, swallows wine<\/p>\n

And grapes, as the poet takes blood as ink.<\/p>\n

A poet must make Beauty<\/em> weep with joy.<\/p>\n

Press lemons into ink or medicine;<\/p>\n

Transmute stone into gold:\u00a0 That\u2019s what Love<\/em> does.<\/p>\n

No king or jailor can lock down these whims.<\/p>\n

A poet knows this, just as lovers do,<\/p>\n

Creeping into beds to build their temples.<\/p>\n

Poets\u2019 milk is ink; the heart\u2019s milk is Love<\/em>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Abbreviated Elegy<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

When we say we love, we mean to say too,<\/p>\n

\u201cGod be with you,\u201d not Goodbye<\/em>.\u00a0 But we can\u2019t<\/p>\n

Oust Sorrow<\/em> from Love<\/em>\u2019s statements; such sorrow<\/p>\n

Looms as birthright\u2014and heritage\u2014and curse.<\/p>\n

Feeling its pure form, we sob as if we\u2019re<\/p>\n

Two vintage violins.\u00a0 No matter our<\/p>\n

Superb experience\u2014coupled and one,<\/p>\n

The tears that drown our cries cause us to faint.<\/p>\n

True:\u00a0 We\u2019ve neither temples nor transcendence,<\/p>\n

But just a song of breath\u2014a dream, our Being<\/em>\u2014<\/p>\n

In transit, but, in love, intransigent,<\/p>\n

So it remains fixed, though we\u2019re moved.\u00a0 Removed,<\/p>\n

Separate, to bread and milk, we strand vineyard<\/p>\n

And wine until our next taste, face-to-face.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

To Salim<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sleep eludes me:\u00a0 I want you so\u2014<\/p>\n

And no one else.\u00a0 I moan all night<\/p>\n

Like a lone dove missing her mate.<\/p>\n

Your love must be my doom, Salim!<\/p>\n

I\u2019m tempted to hate your mother<\/p>\n

For bearing you, except that then<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t love you.\u00a0 I offer<\/p>\n

My best:\u00a0 Do not skimp on my wine!<\/p>\n

Are you a brigand poet, sir?<\/p>\n

I shared an orange\u2014only an orange,<\/p>\n

But you, slyly, studied my ass!<\/p>\n

Fine!\u00a0 Come and grind my coffee then!<\/p>\n

Let your pestle grind my mortar<\/p>\n

As you like:\u00a0 It\u2019s unbreakable\u2026.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2014Laila<\/p>\n

To Salim (II)<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

If I scratch you, I\u2019m yours for life.<\/p>\n

I desire you, each day, all night.<\/p>\n

I discard my veils; I won\u2019t hide<\/p>\n

From your dark, scorching eyes.\u00a0 Spy me!<\/em><\/p>\n

I ride you, quick camel, I bob,<\/p>\n

I undulate.\u00a0 I\u2019m game:\u00a0 Stab me<\/p>\n

Many times with your blade of flesh\u2026.<\/p>\n

(The pain is pure pleasure, Salim!)<\/p>\n

The moon is my sun when you\u2019re here;<\/p>\n

The sun is black when you\u2019re away.<\/p>\n

(Ignore other women:\u00a0 They\u2019re snakes.)<\/p>\n

Let\u2019s meld as closely as crossroads,<\/p>\n

Both intimate and separate.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m part of you, though far apart.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u2014Laila<\/p>\n

Introductory<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

I don\u2019t fear explication!<\/p>\n

These poems are about her, naked, and I, nude.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m not flaccid, and she\u2019s not prudish.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(How silly is puritanical preaching!<\/p>\n

Everyone knows that those clerical barkers,<\/p>\n

Closeted, submit to swinish practices.)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My fiery Muse is a searing beauty!<\/p>\n

Her limbs are dangerous\u2014like Eden\u2019s tree:<\/p>\n

To try them is to be changed utterly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Love<\/em> is for artists, all others it spurns.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m as insatiable as is ink for words.<\/p>\n

(A poet\u2019s poor who doesn\u2019t love.)<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sweaty breathing\u2014the glare of wet\u2014the glaze<\/p>\n

Of light\u2014that\u2019s us, as you, dear reader, read.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

According to Graves<\/strong><\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

I<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My real face is a bull\u2019s\u2014a minotaur\u2019s,<\/p>\n

Long-horned, whose Lust<\/em> refuses museums,<\/p>\n

Who stamps and quakes a bone-china maze.<\/p>\n

Our lips on par, strumming\u2014or endlessly<\/p>\n

Kissing, coil us together like two asps,<\/p>\n

So we\u2019re wed\u2014like perfume and its wearer,<\/p>\n

Rhyming through hours of minutes of mute sin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

II<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Vivacious\u2014salacious\u2014each sex should be.<\/p>\n

Too soon, Death<\/em> bullies us into caskets,<\/p>\n

And all our voluptuous dining ends.<\/p>\n

Wine gluts; Love<\/em> guts us:\u00a0 We thin as we pant.<\/p>\n

We breathe\u2014second by second\u2014and then not;<\/p>\n

Worms scald\u2014vandalize\u2014our scandalous flesh.<\/p>\n

Joy<\/em> is transient treasure:\u00a0 Come!\u00a0 Seize it now!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Crusade   One lover\u2019s lips spill into another\u2019s; Our two combined thighs bandy up and down; One flesh confronts and conforms to the next\u2014 Until we\u2019re shouting, organ by organ. When I breach your castle\u2019s molten marble, I please you by seizing every treasure; I rampage in unmistakable dark, And don\u2019t rest til the sun\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"parent":203,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"authorpoetry.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-219","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/219","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=219"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/219\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":698,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/219\/revisions\/698"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/203"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue10\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=219"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}