Enticingly Incorrigible: Daley
When Americans reside abroad- living their daily lives unrestrained by the confines of red, white, and blue social conventions governing stateside sexual conduct- odd and unpredictable activities in the human relationship department occur. I have observed antics of men and women turned loose in Brazzaville for the past five months, including myself, and shaped our performance into poetic form.
Behold a day in the life of Central Africa’s ex-patriot erotic playground.
I dedicate this poem to a man who asked me to be his dirty private secret in the bedroom while his true love, languishing on a distant continent, pined publicly for his return.
An internal struggle ensued after I heard his overture to my senses because emotions emanating from warm bodies are never as unambiguous as intellects would like. Could I exchange my sense of self-worth and my expectation to be acknowledged publicly by his friends for a shimmering fleshy promise of stimulation I was certain he could deliver to me time and time again? Although the clandestine perversion of hiding passion from the world’s gaze intrigued me at first bite- its addictive musk still floats in clouds through the air- my heart dissuaded me from accepting his gag order and cloak of invisibility. I knew his demands would eventually destroy me. Common sense told me that a relationship between a man and woman poisoned by deception, lies, and secrecy from its inception was trouble.
The explanation I present to the reader is quite cut and dried, but reality in Central Africa is neither simple nor painless. I was anything but unaffected by the intimacy we shared, which was both profound and putrid, as exposed bits and pieces of our lives blended and bled. He’s closed the door to communication with me now. No compassionate words and positive closure for us, so I am rearranging memories into a comfortable configuration all on my own.
...from a bruised place in my soul, sample a taste of something uncooked and raw.
Uncooked and Raw
Vulnerability is a sensitive issue.
Slight pressure transforms beige normalcy.
Thin-skinned and bruised sexuality-
black and blue for the world to see.
Pulsating with a sluggish rhythm.
Unleashing privileged information with abandon.
Giving clues to inner workings and
exposing more than just a favorite color: purple.
Panting in the humidity of rainy season.
Eating leftovers of another woman’s man.
Knowing he sleeps in the nude.
Asks you bluntly to air your dirty sexual laundry
for his physical gratification.
Fantasizes about the verb list
nudging, prodding, probing and finally poking
you.
He knows
your mouth wants to open for him
at crotch level,
unzipping his fly with gentle teeth tugs.
Reaching in orally for the prize.
Remember to
Forget
when he recalls a Significant Other
from his time in Algiers, so certain of his sexual fidelity-
she waits chastely for his return
unaware he’s in the midst of a midlife crisis
busy text messaging girly friends
soft porn images on their cell phones
of hot bath dances.
Bruised inside and out
by vulnerability’s disfigurement
sleepless and wide eyed
between stained sheets in Brazzaville.
No comments:
Post a Comment