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Lust / Slut

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Come, you urged, into my bed,
the world has done some things to you.
The word love was never said.
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Rest down your weary head
on satin sheets and pillows blue.
Come, you called, into my bed.
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I followed you where you led —
in dark the things that bodies do.
The word love was never said.
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The truth is: I would have fled.
Who wants love when lust will do?
Come, you urged, into my bed,
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while I mark you blue, mark you red,
break each secret, small taboo.
The word love is never said,
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our mouths too busy — tongue and head,
lips and teeth on skin anew.
As we come, come, upon your bed,
the word love is never said

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About This Poem: More villanelles. I hate these suckers and I am seriously sick of writing poetry, but at least I’m learning the form. Or pretending to learn the form. It’s nearly impossible to do what this form requires in fifteen minutes, though. So I can get something down, but the poems feel like they’re only carrying the very top level of meaning, and nothing more. I’d really like that ending lines to reverberate more, to have multiple meanings, but I’m not sure how to pull that off without putting a lot more thought and time into the process.

About Poem-A-Day: For the month of April (National Poetry Month), I’ve signed on to write a poem-a-day (eeks!). To make it slightly easier on myself, my rules are that I have to write each poem in fifteen minutes or less, and that I have to post it here on the blog as soon as I’m done. No edits. Just rough. Raw. Right out of the gate. (Of course, if you’re playing along, I hope you’ll post a link to your poem in the comments here — mainly because I’m selfish and I want to read them!)

See all my Poem-A-Day poems here.

You can also read some amazing poems-a-day over at Sage Cohen’s blog.

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