My heart-woman is Sonia, no other.
\nHer mouth is sweet; her you-know-what is sweet;
\nHer breast is sweetbread; her thighs are sweetmeat.
\nShe is champion ivory, dreamy cream.
\n To couple her is to porch in an orchard\u2014
\nTo savour accessible Paradise\u2014
\nMilk and honey, loaves and fish, bread and wine\u2014
\nA league of happiness in one fair frame.
\n Abundant\u2019s her posh nudity, enough
\nTo satisfy and inspire the poet
\nWho claims her love, to persevere a-bed.
\n Nirvana<\/i>\u2019s made flesh when Love<\/i> is wanton,
\nSo dew beflowers each limb, and nothing is
\nSorrow<\/i>, save the parting after pairing.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The shouted whisper of a turning page
\nIs as intangible as Love<\/i>, but hear
\nTwo bodies turn in sheets, undulating;
\nThey chant out Beauty<\/i>, enchanting Beauty<\/i>….<\/p>\n
The first command is “Breathe!” But the last is
\n“Repent!” Bright nakedness of Lust<\/i> becomes
\nMemories of candles, moonlight, until
\nDeath<\/i> abruptly interrupts \u201cCorruption<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
Too sad a gospel is that, I believe.
\nDon’t be inhuman, inhumane, hurtful<\/i>:
\nThat’s enough scripture for Love<\/i> to obey.<\/p>\n
Am I solely lousy? I love wrongly,
\nOr am I right? I can’t define Virtue<\/i>?
\nYes: Something beautiful about her face….<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Along berried ground, that semi-marine
\nBush, bog, fat with butterflies, near shady
\nWater, we step\u2014slog\u2014inescapable
\nVenus and inexorable Cupid\u2014
\nLoving to tumble and clench and couple
\nProdigiously, in our melting tumult,
\nIn the sauna, where sweat shines upon us
\nLike strands of steel. That Pleasure<\/i> awaits us.<\/p>\n
Already, you’re well a sizzling woman\u2014
\nYour bones radiant under encircling
\nSunlight, my Kalevala<\/i> nymph, lovely nymph,
\nAnd I’m thy hot, phosphorescent poet.<\/p>\n
You cut a green trophy\u2014the birching leaves\u2014
\nAnd thrash us with overjoyous tremors.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The sauna fire is a cantering blaze;
\nOur sweat grants us an ecstatic finish.
\nWe ladle out morsels of water that
\nHit hot stones as an overhanging splash.
\nSteam foams up, then vanishes in fresh sweat\u2014
\nA drifting beneficence, or silver
\nEffusion: We both bath in fusing light.<\/p>\n
The leaping strike of water on scorched stones\u2014
\nThe burst of it\u2014equals a squall, a storm
\nOf phosphorescence, as do you, in bed,
\nWhen I’m hot stone and you are cool water.<\/p>\n
But there’s no fog in our union, no mist,
\nAnd we gasp, not for air, but for more Joy<\/i>.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rain is threads of tears\u2014weaving, unweaving,
\nLacing panes, stringing leaves, til Amsterdam’s
\nShimmering as sassily as whitewash.
\nThe full canals, glimmering, drain off murk.<\/p>\n
Night comes in, rain thrums\u2014redundant
\nAbundance; dwindling leaves bolster the wet.
\nScarlet lamps garnish salty, sea-smoked smut\u2014
\nSo we spy out harlots in the worst light.
\n Later, we’ll return to rooms, to gossip
\nIn chairs, then undertake Love<\/i>‘s rustic work,
\nPressing our own dewy wine, drizzling juice.
\n The bed’s luminous ground is ours\u2014our bare
\nExperience, our Joy<\/i> that gleams, while ooze
\nBlossoms outdoors, and we’re shameless as Grief<\/i>.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Rain’s silvery weight lightens the maples.
\nLakeshore, Baltic-side, air is cinnamon;
\nSpices riot. But shadow-tinged water
\nBlots a pale rainbow. Near\u2014and far\u2014are you,
\nDowntown in Helsinki, while I’m exiled
\nTo pines, these pine-spruced-up suburbs, pining\u2014
\nLike Th\u00e9r\u00e8se Desqueyroux in her French woods\u2014
\nWanting glistening light, and missing Love<\/i>.<\/p>\n
Come lightning-thrilled night, sobbing weather,
\nRainy encore to damp warmth, and I pour
\nDraught upon draught of Mannerheim vodka\u2014
\nAs if that pour could bring you to poor me.<\/p>\n
My “drinking problem”? It’s a math problem\u2014
\nAnd its solution is our addition.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Ros\u00e9 is never a muddy wine. Its
\nClarity is as meaningful as prophets,
\nAnd, warming a cold spine, it backs the mouth
\nTo back the eyes, so a man speaks his love.
\n At Storyville, we took several pink drinks;
\nYou sat and swayed; I sipped and nothing said,
\nWanting right words to succumb to my tongue,
\nTo elicit compatible smooching.
\n My tryst was with tristesse<\/i>: I wanted Love<\/i>\u2014
\nA ripe beauty to prove hedonistic
\nMatron in the clamp and vice of coupling.
\nBut could rhetoric prove posh as ros\u00e9?
\n I had to know. I set aside gleaming
\nSweetness. Outside, in rain, our tongues found lips.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Of Sonia My heart-woman is Sonia, no other. Her mouth is sweet; her you-know-what is sweet; Her breast is sweetbread; her thighs are sweetmeat. She is champion ivory, dreamy cream. To couple her is to porch in an orchard\u2014 To savour accessible Paradise\u2014 Milk and honey, loaves and fish, bread […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1923,"parent":229,"menu_order":3,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1406","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1406","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1406"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1406\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1990,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1406\/revisions\/1990"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1923"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue17\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1406"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}