Saturday, April 25, 2015

POST OEDIPAL PAPA FREUD

As i run my fingers through
Your lush beard,
As the silken rustling,
Rasps my fingers sensuously
I wonder why, at this juncture,
With the succubus in me
Wanting to consume you do i feel,
Wistfully, the desire for a colloquy.
Bottomless was the despair when medusa like
I coiled myself in the labyrinth of your mind
Where culture, custom, ratiocination dovetailed
To create a structure which named, and shamed
The need i felt for you, by corporealizing it.
Yet it is not your erect penis
Or my queer wet dreams
That emblematize the irreparable
Gulf between you and me.
Nor does your matted pectoral betoken
A space i can crawl into
Like into the womb, into non being.
Alternations of altered desires
Transpose you into my successive loves
Thereby keeping you alive.
But i relinquish you because
Myths are childish nonsense
You are the centre that is peripheral.
At some distant tangent i focus
And congeal gelatinously, a sensation or
A feeling unnameable.
You label it lust
I call it love.

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