What Can I Do To Drive Away…

“Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter.”  – John Keats 

“Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?”  – John Keats

“Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language, and the last, and it always tells the truth.”  – Margaret Atwood

 

What can I do to drive away

Remembrance from my eyes? For they have seen,

Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!

Touch has a memory, O say, love, say,

What can I do to kill it and be free

In my old liberty?

When every fair one that I saw was fair

Enough to catch me in but half a snare,

Not keep me there:

When, howe’er poor or particolour’d things,

My muse had wings,

And ready was to take her course

Whither I bent her force,

Unintellectual, yet divine to me;

Divine, I say! – What sea-bird o’er the sea

Is a philosopher the while he goes

Winging along where the great water throes?

How shall I do

To get anew

Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more

Above, above

The reach of fluttering Love,

And make him cower lowly while I soar?

Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism,

A heresy and schism,

Foisted into the canon law of love;

No, – wine is only sweet to happy men;

More dismal cares Seize on me unawares,

Where shall I learn to get my peace again?

To banish thoughts of that most hateful land,

Dungeoner of my friends, that wicked strand

Where they were wreck’d and lived a wrecked life,

That monstrous region, whose dull rivers pour

Ever from their sordid urns unto the shore,

Unown’d of any weedy-haired gods;

Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods,

Iced in the great lakes, to afflict mankind;

Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and blind,

Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbag’d meads

Make a lean and lank the starv’d ox while he feeds;

There flowers have no scent, birds no sweet song,

And great unerring Nature once seems wrong.

O, for some sunny spell

To dissipate the shadows of this hell!

Say they are gone,-with the new dawning light

Steps forth my lady bright!

O, let me once more rest

My soul upon that dazzling breast!

Let once again these aching arms be plac’d,

The tender gaolers of thy waist!

And let me feel that warm breath here and there

To spread a rapture in my very hair,
O, the sweetness of the pain!

Give me those lips again!

Enough! Enough! It is enough for me

To dream of thee!

 

– John Keats 1795 – 1821

 

Bisous,

Léa

Red’s own story

“And whenever I’m in a situation where I’m wearing the same as 600 other people and doing the same thing as 600 other people, looking back, I always found ways to make myself different, whether it be having a red lining inside of my jacket, having red shoes, it hasn’t changed.”
– Jeremy Irons

“When in doubt wear RED.”
– Bill Blass

 

Red’s Own Story

 

She is the thick

Slick enamel

That covers my nails

A pointer when tracing

Concentric circles

On bare flesh

She is the sports car

Darting along the highway

Hugging the curves

Turning an eye

She is the ripe

Succulent strawberry

Her flesh firm

Yet yielding

Tantalizing dipped in dark chocolate

Suits her best

She is the

American beauty

Long stemmed, heady fragrance

Her tight buds unfurl

Exposing her inner delicacy

We forget the thorns

She is the creamy dark war paint

On my lips

A signature

When and where

I choose to leave my mark

She is fire

On the move

Churning inside

Rising up

Beckoning me on

She is

Passion

 

Bisous,

Léa

Double – edged

“One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.”

– Sophocles

“Touch seems to be as essential as sunlight.” – Diane Ackerman

*

 

Double-edged

It is that soft

Underbelly tenderness

Of a first kiss

That first exploration

Of the one who made

My respirations shallow

My heart skips a beat

–

It is the sharp edges of

Each parting

The tearing of

Heartstrings

The bottomless

Vacuum of

Separation

 *

Bisous,

Léa

Ces mains

“As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.”   –  Audrey Hepburn

 

“The final forming of a person’s character lies in their own hands.”  

–  Anne Frank

“Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain.”   –  Carl Jung

*

Ces mains

These hands

Often struck

With yardstick

Brosse de cheveux

Or any other

Weapon of war

*

Ces mains

Learned that they

Were best kept

Out of the way

Out of danger

*

Ces mains

Learned that

Other hands needed

Holding

Frail hands

Confused hands

*

These hands

Eagerly reaching out

To those in want

Or need

Finding hands to hold

Or guide

*

These hands

Never raised in

Anger

These hands

Gentle

Kind

*

Ces mains

Sont les

Miennes

*

Bisous,

Léa

ravenous

“Blake said that the body was the soul’s prison unless the five senses are fully developed and open. He considered the senses the ‘windows of the soul.’ When sex involves all the senses intensely, it can be like a mystical experience.”

–   Jim Morrison

“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”   –   Mae West

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”   –   Pablo Neruda

“Passion is universal humanity. Without it religion, history, romance and art would be useless.”  –    Honore de Balzac

 

ravenous

j’ai faim

though it be a

minute

or hours

since we parted

the echos of our

melding

reverberate

flooding each cavity

causing cells to spasm

your hunger collides

into my own

ensemble

the pangs of

starvation

but your taste

lingers on my tongue

sizzling, salty then sweet

your touch burns

beyond the boundaries

of flesh

famine sharpens your desire

hunger – thrusting yours

into my own

rhythm rocking

extremities locking

filling each other

sparks flying

one day – perhaps

we will spontaneously

combust

*

bisous,

léa

calluses

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet”   –  Plato

 

“Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.”  

–  Charles Dickens

 

“Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”  

–   Rainer Maria Rilke

 

 

 

 

calluses

*

like fingerprints

 your touch

lands delicately

like a butterfly

on the small

of my back

as each journey

begins

rough against

softness as

firmness increases

pressure mounts

indelibly you engrave

upon flesh

the stories

we write

the roughness

of your fingertips

my

neumonic device

*

bisous,

léa

still

“Touch has memory.”   –  John Keats

 

“So she thoroughly taught him that one cannot take pleasure without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every last bit of the body has its secret, which brings happiness to the person who knows how to wake it. She taught him that after a celebration of love the lovers should not part without admiring each other, without being conquered or having conquered, so that neither is bleak or glutted or has the bad feeling of being used or misused.”   –  Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

 

“Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body. Your morse code interferes with my heartbeat. I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut.”  

Jeanette Winterson,  Written on the Body

 

 

still

*

i lie in your

arms

watching you sleep

not wanting to wake

you

yet this appetite

this hunger

for more

you

grows

with each breath

you take

*

still

i want to touch

you

to

rèpondez à plusieurs

reprises

to the cool

then searing

brand you leave

on my flesh

inside

a chorus of

cells

echo the mantra

you, you, you

jusque-là

i remain

under your spell

*

bisous,

léa

Donnez-moi

“A woman is more beautiful than the world in which I live; and so I close my eyes.”   –  Paul Éluard

 

“Larmes sont les pétals  du coeur.”  /  “Tears are the petals of the heart.” 

– Paul Éluard

 

 

Donnez-moi

Un homme

Whose tongue

Drips with honey

Éluard has had

His way

Avec moi

À plusieurs reprises

Verse that

Strips me naked

And leaves me

Pleading for

More

My knees

Wobble

Each breath

A labored

Entreaty

Even my

Sixth sense

Pushed to its

limits

Addicted to

Pleasure

Donnez-moi

Donnez-moi

Spent

I luxuriate

As his presence

Lingers

A prelude

Pour des rêves

*

Bisous,

Léa

Caring for your muse

“To draw you must close your eyes and sing.”  –  Pablo Picasso

“I can always be distracted by love, but eventually I get horny for my creativity.”  –  Gilda Radner

“I do not seek. I find.”  – Pablo Picasso

***

 

caring for your muse

one cannot expect the muse

to subsist on a diet of only

white bread, salad and chicken

the muse requires dark chocolate

black cherries, truffes (truffles)

washed down with champagne or

premium vin rouge

–

a muse will not be confined

to numbers on a clock

nor the position of the sun

on the horizon

she sets her own time

and will be obeyed

her candle burns at both ends

–

muse requires a steady supply        

of sensory stimulation

the smoothness of a stone

plucked from the icy riverbed

burning sand between her toes

excesses of silk

a kitten’s fur

caramel stuck to teeth

sexual tension and a lover’s touch

the rhythms of heat

sunlight on her back

                                                                      –                                                                        

the rustling of leaves

the crack in a glacier

before tumbling to sea

waves crashing ashore

screaming sirens

60’s rock

hard rock

bolero

mozart

–

hot tar on the newly

paved road

          a wet dog            

lilac, thyme, rosemary

pine, rose

the damp sweetness

of the chestnut tree

in the rain

–

all food to whet

artistic revelation

if denied

starvation will be

fatal

–

nourishment

is in your hands

will you give her

smorgasbord

or do you only offer

fast food

***

Bisous,

Léa

Impressions

“It’s pretty simple, pretty obvious: that people’s first impressions of people are really a big mistake.”  –  Vincent D’Onofrio

“Harold, like the rest of us, had many impressions which saved him the trouble of distinct ideas.”   –  George Eliot

***

 

Impressions

Not impressed

By the cover

Your stories

Words

Actions

That make

You

Those I shall

Read

Reverently

Quietly first

In Braille

Then out loud

No stone unturned

Moving on to trace

The outline

Mouthing the

Words

Absorbing the senses

Neural imprinting

I shall

Know you by

Heart

***

Bisous,

Léa