freud the mind fucker
molested sacred dreamscapes:
his healings impotent

hApPy NaTiOnAl HaIkU dAy !!!

Love, Angela

The Floating Poem, Unnumbered

By Adrienne Rich

Whatever happens with us, your body

will haunt mine — tender, delicate

your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond

of the fiddlehead fern in forests

just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs

between which my whole face has come and come —

the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there —

the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth —

your touch on me, firm, protective, searching

me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers

reaching where I have been waiting years for you

in my rose-wet cave — whatever happens, this is.

———————————————————————

This poem was first published in 1971 in the collection Twenty One Love Poems, which is now so highly regarded (and evidently out of print) that it is being sold on Amazon for $125.

But I’m hooked. So what’s a girl to do? Well. I’ll buy it for myself, of course! I’ve also added a more reasonably-priced collection by Ms Rich to my gift list. Who is going to make me happy?

when she turns to you
her circumspect attentions
blessed be you

when she opens you up
her clever bemusement
blessed be you

blessed be you
unhinged and broke open
blessed be you
asymmetric and fervent

blessed be you
that your merits are counted
blessed be you
because your edges are rounded

when she gives to you
her urgent crooked love
blessed be you

when she drains from you
like a dark-eyed gypsy
blessed be you

blessed be you
un-creased and pressed flat
blessed be you
teetering and undone

blessed be you
wrung out and boiled down
blessed be you
buoyant and effervesced

blessed be you
sweet boy
for her blessings
these blessings that are yours to count

————————————————————

by yours truly,
xo, Angela

But when a woman decides to sleep with a man, there is no wall she will not scale, no fortress she will not destroy, no moral consideration she will not ignore at its very root: there is no God worth worrying about.

~Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera