On The Wild Side

So we're sitting in an over hot room at the Sorat in Hanover,
It's a corner room and sun blazes in through all the windows,
Early September, we shed clothes and lie on the floor
Drinking cheap champagne, eating Turkish olives and talking.

How we talk, over and over the same thing, delighted,
We've alighted onto the next stage and sex and passion,
Even as sweat falls, we are intoxicated, in us, in cheap champagne,
In sun drenched rooms, a commuter belt cheap hotel.

I think then, not even clearly, that it is not really love but
Newly liberated it feels good and it's dangerous,
Love on the wild side, full of excesses, a carnal greed,
We devour each other and the sun sinks, cooling,
Some time we fall asleep, exhausted, olives spoiling
And the last dregs that curdled our insides, spilling,

The Christmas markets in Celle, another hotel,
This time more comely, outside in the courtyard a Christmas tree
Sparkles and overnight it snows, blustery cold, we drink
Wine with spices and buy chocolates from surly shopkeepers,
Find an Italian restaurant where a voluptuous Italian lady
Hand feeds her customers with calamari, more cheap wine.

We fight, feed, fornicate, each in frenzy, there is a do or die
And I would be lying if I said I had loved you then, if ever.
I loved the freedom of flesh on flesh, fighting constraints
Breaking through passions, long since kept under wraps,
We fought, each fight more blood thirsty than the last.

Then of course there is always a victor and somehow
Love on the wild side loses its appeal. Sometimes you have
To heal in the most carnal way. Desire is heady with passion.
To be a lioness and take and feed and gorge on each other,
All tongues, hot and cold liquid love that drips and stains,
There are no limits and boundaries are crossed then re crossed.

Two artists should never fall in love, it is always doomed,
We feel too much, are too extravagant in our desires, eventually
The wild side is just that and to create, one needs peace
And the oneness of just yourself. I like to crash symphonies
On the rocks around the island of my heart, then later when calm,
I take the peaceful voyage up through the veins and sinews.

Returning replete, until the next time the roar happens,
In another room, somewhere, perhaps better champagne on offer.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 682 times
Written on 2013-12-19 at 17:44

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is wonderful, Elle, a great description of things we are compelled to do over and over, once we've forgotten the regret we feel after doing them. From time to time, one has to leave the island.
2013-12-22



I've sometimes wondered if sex and love are more separate poles, not like the can't-have-one-without-the-other imperative that we've been led to believe is the ideal. Seems to me that it's not as common as one might think when both collide and merge. And often when one advances, the other recedes. Ah, the mysteries of romance.

Enjoyed.
2013-12-21


Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
I found the last line referring to
Perhaps a better champagne on offer
To be the core lesson of the poem
the essential question of spirit being
amongst the rambles of artistic boheme
2013-12-20


Ferenc Inigo Beck
Very thought provoking.Rife with memory. Reminds me of a year I lived one week-end in Tunis.Sweat,dirt,and true love.
2013-12-20



So refreshing to read something this poetic without a hint of poetic ambiguity.
2013-12-19