Claude Cahun "What Do You Want From Me?"
dismissed

the voice spoke from the darkness,
sounding so much like yours that for a moment I was fooled
into believing that you had morphed your secret silent self
into another incarnation come to haunt me.
i must be careful not to project your shadow onto this new voice,
it wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be fair.
he is not you, and how silly to think so,
since we both know there is no you really -
you are someone I clothed with thriftshop garments from my own longing.
but i want to give this man his chance without prejudice
- positive or negative -
yet i am afraid.
take yourself off, why don't you,
and give me my swing at the pinyata of happiness
(closing my eyes as the butterflywingedrainbowcolored beams shower me with
love).


cross-stitch (uncounted)

         she had to force herself to
                                          go away
         and do something else
         or risk being a fool so
         obvious
         she might as well have sported
         cap & bells

         his words made her thighs twitch
         with remembered longing
         nothing crude or inflammatory
         just that rough elegant
         directness
         with no pretense
         about not needing tenderness

         she left and hid herself away
         eyes closed lying perfectly
         still
         but with glowing deliquescent visions
         l o o p i n g  (l o o p i n g  l o o p i n g  l o o p i n g  l o o
p i n g)
         behind her lids

         his tongue
         hot wet explorer tracing the shy folds
         hidden in a jungle of abandoned lushness
         that no adventurer had mapped
         in an eternity

         his cheeks slightlylightly scratching
         the smooth pristinity of her unvisited curves
         as he succored his own thirsts and
         soaked his soul in secret scented glades

         the sun a fireball refusing to set until he smiled
         slicked with happiness
         and thrust his tongue deep
         into the waiting cavern of her mouth
         and lowered himself trembling
         onto the blazing sands now adorned
         with an unexpected oasis
         showing her the matching deprivation
         of his own vast desert

         and glued
         dunes curving symmetrically against each other
         across these unfamiliar continents
         they rode the contrail of the comet
         until her eyes snapped open

         and she laughed
         feeling foolish once again
         though she was
         as usual
         alone


          © 2001 Regina Coeli deWinter





Silkie deWinter
is a poet, essayist, singer/songwriter, photographer, (see her AnotherSun photos ) digital artist, Tarot card reader and website designer who lives, works and commits general mayhem in Middletown, CT.