Lust Never More

(This piece was written right after I had watched the 1973 European film "Last Tango in Paris." The film verged on the macabre, with excessive and extreme displays of sexual deviancy bordering on pornography with a young Frenchwoman (Maria Schneider), ad-libbed monologues that are cathartic to a great degree when one considers the scene with Marlon Brando's main character Paul confronting his wife, who committed suicide, at her coffin. The film struck me in such a way that I could suddenly no longer ignore my own inhibitions, and thus instead of going off and having sex with some fluesy on UT campus just waiting to spread her legs and "take one for the team", I let loose on paper. This poem, without a doubt, is one of my most erotic, sexually expressive works of all the pieces I have ever produced, and is certainly not for everyone to read, particularly those who have a weak stomach. With that said, I hope that those of you who read this enjoys it and will leave me a comment, whether good or no.)

Lust Never More                               June 7, 2007

Looking back at looking forward

To days of debauchery and chaos,

Screaming and wailing in ecstasy

As our combined bloods boiled.

Oh, you said once you had it hard for me,

But you never really got it

Until it was in your soul,

The goal, that is, to conquer.

Playing the part of the fool came too naturally,

For immediately I spiked quite a fever.

The doctors would've claimed us invalids

For the actions we did wreak upon the other,

The chains, the bonds, and how the serpent sang.

Recalling what it was you said is so hard

Prior to my unbuttoning your pants...

Oh, yes. You were waiving all free will.

But what of that free will? I asked,

And you declined, of course,

But begging to differ, I was forced to oblige,

Even as I was ripping into pink flesh

More inclined to emotionally raping me.

It wasn't so much what we were doing,

How people always throw around the term "fornicate."

No. More like it is, that it's a way we are,

The state of being, that we co-exist,

That we do so in order not to pretend

We are to lust never more.

There was the journey, of course,

Through the peaks and the valleys,

The deserts and the marshlands,

The prairies and the beaches,

And all along the way

I knew not where to go 

Other than what one pointed figure

Said to me not once in a dream

But a seemingly infinite number of times,

And that is that I must continue

Journeying in between her lines

For that lifeline, forever and a day.