In these days of online conservatism, I dare not publish what-I-think-is a sweet and loving poem. Of course, I won't hesitate to put it into one of three books (see bottom of poem), since I consider it a good poem in itself and an observation worth the art. Hope you agree.
She Dry, He Soft
She dry, he soft.
They hold aloft romance and passion.
Does not passion pass on?
And what stance does romance take
When body fails? Does one fake?
The keys are there in every action:
Every whispered word, touch, clutch.
Intensity may modify.
Who needs to reach the sky each twinkling of an eye?
Friendship’s warmth and harmony
Lie at the heart of passion’s key,
And if they go, so will the rest.
At best, what's left but superficiality –
A shell - and crusty one at that,
Destined in the upshot to fall flat.
She dry, he soft, not often reaching Everest,
Yet sex, oh yes, the very best,
Back and forth in all its warmth.
Superlative
In giving.
She Was Dry, He Was Soft 7.1.2018 Circling Round Aging; Eros Ii; Love Relationships II;