The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 5/8/08 (language warning)

[BlueIris]

—from "Have You Ever Faked An Orgasm?"

                    The Return

When I open my legs to let you seek,
seek inside me, seeking more, I think
"What are you looking for?" and feel it will
be hid from me, whatever it is, still,
or rapidly moving beyond my frequency.
Then I declare you a mystery
and stop myself from moving and hold still
until you can find your orgasm.  Peak
is partly what you look for, and the brink
you love to come to and return to must
be part of it, too, thrust, build, the trust
that brings me, surprised, to a brink of my own...
I must be blind to something of my own
you recognize and look for.  A diamond
speaks in a way through its beams, though it's dumb
to the brilliance it refracts.  A gem at the back
of my cave must tell you, "Yes, you can come back."...

                    Have You Ever Faked an Orgasm?

When I get nervous, it's so hard not to.
When I'm expected to come in something 
other than my ordinary way, to
take pleasure in the new way, lost, not knowing

how to drive it back to sureness...where are
the thousand thousand flowers I always pass?
the violet flannel, then the sharpness?
I can't, I can't...extinguish the star

in a burst.  It goes on glowing.  Your head
between my legs so long.  Do you really
want to be there?  I whimper as though...silly...
then get mad.  I could smash your valiant head.

"You didn't come, did you?"  Naturally, you know.
Although, I try to lie, the truth escapes me
almost like an orgasm itself.  Then the "No"
that should crack a world, but doesn’t, slips free.

                    I Consider the Possibility

Long waisted, tender skinned and, despite the gym,
love roll about the midriff above the leggy limbs
muscled into knots at each calf, "beautiful for your age,"
—bend over naked from your waist and show your red half
peach of a cunt to me who has fumbled at my cage
trying key after key in the stuck door with a half laugh
after each failure, let me lay the bone of my nose
on the peach flesh and lift up my mouth to the pit
as I reach my arms toward the inverted throes
of your breasts, and as I touch your orange nipple tips
know that I have striven all my life toward men
and now, marriageless again, gossiping with my mother
who bluntly suggests that there are always women
and upon being merrily teased by my therapist
at the prospect of our love affair (thinking that "the other"
has never incited such laughter), let me touch your wrist
at the dinner table, and begin the silly maneuver
that will lead me to hold your head, to smooth your
hair all back, as going through keys at the door my own wrist
finally turns tender side up as the lock untwists.

—Molly Peacock

[ismnotwasm]

1. Good one

I remember when I vowed never to fake an orgasm again. I was THIRTY. Thirty. And had been sexual active for 15 years--a definite hit and miss proposition.

That vow (I've never broke it)set me free in more ways than sexual.

[BlueIris]

2. The truth is, this poem has other stanzas that make it even better, but

I was afraid that if I posted the whole thing, it would get yanked as a rule violation. (Not a rip on the rules or mods, I just didn't think the whole thing could be posted here.)

Good for you with the vow. IMO, faking just isn't worth it.

[ismnotwasm]

3. It is a good poem

It's lovely, and real, and hopefully they recognized that