A Curious Quaint Appeal

Courbet-The Origin of the World 1866

You possessed certain attributes
(And still possess I so dearly hope)
Namely an uncertain smile,
A naive, gauche charm
But most of all a unique,
Curious, quaint appeal.

Do you remember that morning
(I definitely remember
But how I ever possibly forget)
It was summer, humidity was high
The stifling atmosphere
Was almost unbreathable
You called, I came
I rang the doorbell
Anxiously waited on the step
Until you open the door
Undressed but for a duvet
That you let slide to the floor
Revealing a naked miracle
I stood there rooted
Torn between illicit desire
And the better angels of a nature
I had never thought existed.
I had a hundred and one perfectly
Valid reasons for leaving
Right there and then:
But maybe there
Is salvation in sin
Maybe the glamour
Of evil and betrayal
Will outweigh the guilt;
Maybe the heavy load
Of a troubled conscience
Is lighter than the
Billion dying spermatozoa
Seeking their only destination
That is within reach
As my fingers testify
As they glance and skirt
In a preliminary skirmish
Through the thickets
And lush undergrowth
Towards the entrance
Of your flooding hollow
You reach down and by
Interlacing our hands
Lead me towards
The bedroom where
Beneath a portrait
By your sister whom
I would never get to meet
I traverse the territory
Of your exposed body;
The sleek Modigliani neck,
The scallops of your ears,
The peaks of your aureoles,
The curvature of your belly,
And deeper still my tongue
After gliding over every
Pore and inch of skin
Penetrates your lips
Into the cavern of
Your mouth with its
Stalactites and stalagmites;
Again you hands lead me
To where I always wanted to go:
Ever since the first moment
That I saw you and I was stunned
As the blood left my brain;
You guide my head down below
And I practice my cunning stunts
To taste your essence
Unusual in its scent
Of honey and vanilla
With biscuit-y undertones
And I dive for oysters
While hunting for pearls
Hidden in this marine realm
Your long legs wrapped
Around my head so tight
That I don’t hear the phone
Ringing out over and over
But you do to infinite regret
And eternal sadness.
To amuse myself I fondle your breasts
And whisper sweet nothings
As you try to cut the call short
But already my work is messaging
To ascertain my whereabouts.

Time, alas, wasn’t on our side
And the circumstances never presented
Themselves to be repeated:
But still to this day I wonder
About your curious, quaint appeal.


103 thoughts on “A Curious Quaint Appeal

      1. Different methods for different people. Personally I am against the whole boring revision process that is so popular with writers, though I probably should take more time and care with my pieces.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh, did I miss one? I’ll look. But you always pair art with poetry so it’s all good. This painting really catches the eye. πŸ˜€

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Ok. It took two Google attempts and then it popped up in bold at the top of the list. Excellent. The word is catching on here. At least among the sex writers/readers.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Well I have used it in Tempting Fate and in my two erotic stories. Meg usually edits it out on her main site, I love the word, over here it used as a general insult or even speech qualifier. it has power and so few words these days do. It is funny that quaint know means what it does now.

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      4. It is funny. Having old world charm- how is that in any way the same? Lol. I have no issue with the word but I don’t like how words for genitalia also get used as insults. I think it’s weird and kinda degrading. But maybe it comes from the origins of these slang words? I don’t know.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Isn’t it just… I decided to eliminate any coyness (Andrew Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress is a reference) and make it quite clear what the subject matter is… I think this is NSFW.

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      2. Well it is a difficult genre to work in, some of it is so coy and cloy and some it is so mechanical and banal. Metaphors can be risible and it is hard to convey with such a limited number of words and gestures. Very hard not to repeat oneself as well which means that instead of being shocking or arousing it is merely boring and affectless. The quantity of good work to bad is probably 1-10000 which is smaller than any other genre. Not that I count myself in the good but I try.

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      3. I know what you mean… one of the reasons I limit it in my writing. There’s only so many ways to describe it before you start saying the same old things. At least in poetry you can use pretty euphemisms. Fiction is harder.

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  1. The juxtaposition of the last two paintings and poems sets them up in an intertextual, four-handed dialog that is most intriguing, doubly so with the female Kahlo in dialog with the male Courbet. While the impact of the visual intertextual dialog is immediate, it would take much longer, and several in-depth readings, for a more complete, let alone the full, relationship of the verbal dialog to be revealed. Another very intriguing and thoughtful post.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Footnotes make me work. I am a retired academic, not an active one. In fact, when I look back, I don’t think I ever was a real academic. To much poetry, not enough prose. Academia doesn’t like rhyming footnotes. I presented a rap lecture on Quevedo at one (very serious) conference. The ladies in pearls, diamonds, and fur coats were not amused. The ladies whose lives were dependent on their seriousness were even less amused. Quevedo would have roared with laughter.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Cake. This is an excellent poem and the way you describe the encounter does not fall short in epic descriptions. I use the word epic instead of “erotic” as the latter would be just something obvious.
    As I read along I felt that the Pounded rhythm of poetic prose accompanies the events in a perfect symbiosis.
    I liked those lines when you say:

    “I stood there rooted
    Torn between illicit desire
    And the better angels of a nature
    I had never thought existed”

    I found that doubt to be somewhat recurrent as far as desire is concerned.
    The ending lines are perhaps the best proof to conclude that the most memorable passions are “always” occasional.

    Keep it up!. Love your poetry. πŸ˜€ πŸ˜‰

    Liked by 2 people

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