Sweet Corinna, A ConfessionA Poem by Ken e Bujold"in no way autobiographical"So shall I always hold your endless indictment? The accusation of a false eye forever scanning the unfamiliar orchard de la pomme non polie-- the flaxen daisy at the bus stop? Should I smile across the counter at the harried child, break stride for the relentless runner to pass on by, you say you sense a secret conversation taking place, a betrayal of our communal combination. If I praise some random stranger's dress, the red coat of a season's new fashion, you make it seem like I've taken myself a mistress, made an amendment to the seventh article of the constitution. But here, dear sweet Corinna, how should I confess the crime of your own sister's roving eye, inching fingertips pressed into a thigh? How to tell without opening the door to your green-eyed cat?
What pleasure would be derived denying the strafe of mingy claws scratching an itch? When I looked at Cypassis I saw what hunger can uncoil. The hot crust of hell, the fertile valley between thought and the naked feel of lust consumed by actual conjugation of conflicting tenses. How can what 's fine for Kings be foul for me? Should I have denied myself, argued against what small pleasures a man could scrap from the buttered scones of a sister's pantry? Desire, dear Corinna, is a red-eyed bat, an acute want of the first knowledge that swept us from Olympus on high. And being mere mortal Corinna, far less so than those noble scions of far fabled realms, I partook of Cypassis' offered bounty, and rode the south wind's down to join cursed Tantalus. For pleasure, I became a man well and good out of mind. Ken e Bujold
© 2022 Ken e BujoldAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on October 25, 2022 Last Updated on October 25, 2022 AuthorKen e BujoldSomewhere in Ontario, CanadaAboutWriters write, it's what we do. Fish swim, woodpeckers peck... writers scribble (inside and outside the lines). more..Writing
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