(Freed by)/a Stroke of/the Pen
Mine was a despair-amour.
He licked me all over
then traded his tongue for–
at least entangled–mine,
branding it with his want.
A cant of can’t
was all that I could voice,
amazed, at times,
throat lumpen with his gorge,
to make any sound at all
(forgetting that despairamours
like to hear the moans
they’ve forged).
‘Til then I found,
though my mouth could only fit round
bark,
that he’d left my hands free;
and that opened up
all sorts of possibilities–
*******************
draftish poem for Brendan’s prompt on Real Toads to write of a paramour that led us to write. Brendan’s prompt, which is a very interesting read, discusses certain Greek traditions of poetry. Which lids me to the pic, a painting I recently did. I’m not sure it fully fits, but it was my version of a a Roman painting (which was Greek to me).
ManicDDaily 
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