Separation
I have bottled up my passions,
Because you have gone away from me,
I shall not think of kisses,
Or kind, sweet caress,
Or the feel of your shoulders,
Or the weight of your body -
I will knit or paint
Or read a book I’ve been meaning to read,
And will not think of you at all,
Not think of the scent of you,
All of my ardor, my ache for you,
Will sit neatly somewhere
Stoppered with this quivering cork,
And I will not think of you at all.
—Published as Rochelle Randel, Sauce Box Literary Erotica, December 1997
Freedom for the Spider
I think I will return for the black spider.
trapped in the storefront window,
Pinned to slick cardboard,
It is much too big, very gaudy,
Made with cheap black
cut glass.
Wide stalking legs,
And a big body,
But I like it -
And think it would
Make a fine god,
For the other spiders.
— Published as Rochelle Randel, 2River View, February 1998
— Read at HoCoPoLitSo, April 1998 |
Photos courtesy of Sheamus Clark
North Shore, the pipeline
Sultry Melody
I hear the resonant tones, a bass melody..
I hear bells, chimes,
Drums in the distance,
Chanting.
Somewhere there is a guitar, that strums in the night.
If you want to go slow, I doubt you.
For I know how the passion builds within me,
Like a slow smoldering crescendo.
I can feel the pulse beat at my temples,
And the throb beneath my heavy breasts.
Heat spreads like the serpent,
I feel it writhe down my spine,
Tracing its sultry path over the roundness of my hips.
There is a lump in my throat, an
Unswallowed tangible ache.
I want to feel you there.
Run my tongue across you, sip in
that pearly drink.
I have heat, and fire.
— Published as Rochelle Randel, Sauce Box, Fall 1998 |
0 Responses to “Poems p.3”