Love Underwear
for D.B.A.
1.
able too readily, my darling, Dee,
to turn upon the wrong side
like you did this morning
like you did that evening
Olive Senior gave her lecture
and we listened apart
able to, in an instant,
turn upon the wrong side
on the wrong side
no one to deal with or be with
I tried to stop you leaving
you wouldn't hear me
would not be appeased
turned about or turned around
emotionally or otherwise
you so stubborn, Dee,
when you ready to switch
to be a bitch, to pitch a fit
admit to contributing to it
to being a bit difficult too sometimes
but what of love, at the core
at the door, knocking
what of reason, logic
but girl, your cussing me
certainly arouses me
it gives me a hard on
you know what else does
what did this morning
when you turn from being rough
from playing rough and turn soft
tender, gentle, loving
you looked at me
with something in your eyes
I cannot describe
something moist and warm
what inside to produce such a look
I hardly able to bear
being looked upon like that
switch to that from cussing, fussing, fighting
how wonderfully devastating
we have gotten under each other’s skin
you and I, Dee
you suggest that this miracle
has only happened- is only happening
to me - you lie
what was that if it was not love
that I saw this morning in your eyes
what do you see in my eyes
that you make no mention of
what is it especially that assures you
of my love
what is it that most convinces you
that I am- that I do
you certainly seem convinced
of my commitment
of the strength and depth of it
how deep does your love go
I want to dive in, see if it's sea
or if it's ocean
how awful our break up was this morning
disagreeable girl, what did you think
of my threat of a tamarind switch
one you'd have to- or two
you'd have to plait into one yourself
for me to give you the whipping
you at times deserve
the whipping you'd go out of your way to earn
I just want to love you, Dee, punish you
with my tongue lapping, between your legs
like waves
2.
drank your juice
cup containing it
you had set upon the floor
you had crossed your legs
your left foot- your shoe bottom
dangling over the uncovered cup
love and loved the spontaneity
of your motion, your moving about
of all your prankish activity
but cup with juice upon the floor
is for me a no no
careless about what might drop off
dust off your shoe bottom
hypochondriac that I am
think, hours after, of that equation
cup upon the floor, your flat foot
in your shoe, dangling, mindlessly
over it
think of what I'm eager to- willing
to do to you-
what I'm wiling to suck and to lick,
fuck and prick
trust that I can take you into my mouth
without thinking twice
without worry at all
but might you be as careless
with your uncovered cut
as you were with orange juice
in an uncovered cup
my black mug for tea
I served you juice in
3.
is she an ass or what
to make subordinate
to her affair with a boyfriend
Baptist minister's son
what she and I are sharing
what she and I are working on
we are in the forefront
of what is happening
in Bahamian literature
as well as upon a lofty plain
in what is happening
in literature in the Caribbean
what she and I are sharing,
creating, a phenomenon
of all time and in all the world
or it very well can be
this dynamic, this activity
she places or wishes to place
beneath her play play love affair
how can she give that
greater significance
than this frontier we're on
where we've been cast
upon which we find ourselves
am I to conclude that she
does not know what to value how
without a clue about
the value of art, hers or mine
or art period
she it is who insists upon
rubbing paintings on canvas
with her open palm like a JA
is it that she is unaware
of the value and significance
of what we are involved in
in spite of the plateau
up to which I've elevated her
up to which I've pulled her
her along with her art
more than 75 % of all I write
of all I've written in 12 months
is of her
all of this, all of these
beneath the feet
of her boyfriend and her
poetry for them two
to trample over –
to trample on –
to trample across
fuck her if she is unaware
of the high high shelf
upon which literature
upon which art belongs
must rescue poetry
from beneath her feet
elevate it to heaven
from where it came
to earth, to us
but not intended
to be trampled on
not for her to clean her hip with
offered to clean her hip
with my tongue,
lick it until clean
do what dogs do
poetry of that though
don't suppose she can appreciate
how can I put first
who'd put poetry second
or put poetry last
or put poetry down
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2011
Written between 3:05 p.m. on Monday,
March 14 and 2:18 a.m. on Wednesday,
March 16, 2011
for D.B.A.
1.
able too readily, my darling, Dee,
to turn upon the wrong side
like you did this morning
like you did that evening
Olive Senior gave her lecture
and we listened apart
able to, in an instant,
turn upon the wrong side
on the wrong side
no one to deal with or be with
I tried to stop you leaving
you wouldn't hear me
would not be appeased
turned about or turned around
emotionally or otherwise
you so stubborn, Dee,
when you ready to switch
to be a bitch, to pitch a fit
admit to contributing to it
to being a bit difficult too sometimes
but what of love, at the core
at the door, knocking
what of reason, logic
but girl, your cussing me
certainly arouses me
it gives me a hard on
you know what else does
what did this morning
when you turn from being rough
from playing rough and turn soft
tender, gentle, loving
you looked at me
with something in your eyes
I cannot describe
something moist and warm
what inside to produce such a look
I hardly able to bear
being looked upon like that
switch to that from cussing, fussing, fighting
how wonderfully devastating
we have gotten under each other’s skin
you and I, Dee
you suggest that this miracle
has only happened- is only happening
to me - you lie
what was that if it was not love
that I saw this morning in your eyes
what do you see in my eyes
that you make no mention of
what is it especially that assures you
of my love
what is it that most convinces you
that I am- that I do
you certainly seem convinced
of my commitment
of the strength and depth of it
how deep does your love go
I want to dive in, see if it's sea
or if it's ocean
how awful our break up was this morning
disagreeable girl, what did you think
of my threat of a tamarind switch
one you'd have to- or two
you'd have to plait into one yourself
for me to give you the whipping
you at times deserve
the whipping you'd go out of your way to earn
I just want to love you, Dee, punish you
with my tongue lapping, between your legs
like waves
2.
drank your juice
cup containing it
you had set upon the floor
you had crossed your legs
your left foot- your shoe bottom
dangling over the uncovered cup
love and loved the spontaneity
of your motion, your moving about
of all your prankish activity
but cup with juice upon the floor
is for me a no no
careless about what might drop off
dust off your shoe bottom
hypochondriac that I am
think, hours after, of that equation
cup upon the floor, your flat foot
in your shoe, dangling, mindlessly
over it
think of what I'm eager to- willing
to do to you-
what I'm wiling to suck and to lick,
fuck and prick
trust that I can take you into my mouth
without thinking twice
without worry at all
but might you be as careless
with your uncovered cut
as you were with orange juice
in an uncovered cup
my black mug for tea
I served you juice in
3.
is she an ass or what
to make subordinate
to her affair with a boyfriend
Baptist minister's son
what she and I are sharing
what she and I are working on
we are in the forefront
of what is happening
in Bahamian literature
as well as upon a lofty plain
in what is happening
in literature in the Caribbean
what she and I are sharing,
creating, a phenomenon
of all time and in all the world
or it very well can be
this dynamic, this activity
she places or wishes to place
beneath her play play love affair
how can she give that
greater significance
than this frontier we're on
where we've been cast
upon which we find ourselves
am I to conclude that she
does not know what to value how
without a clue about
the value of art, hers or mine
or art period
she it is who insists upon
rubbing paintings on canvas
with her open palm like a JA
is it that she is unaware
of the value and significance
of what we are involved in
in spite of the plateau
up to which I've elevated her
up to which I've pulled her
her along with her art
more than 75 % of all I write
of all I've written in 12 months
is of her
all of this, all of these
beneath the feet
of her boyfriend and her
poetry for them two
to trample over –
to trample on –
to trample across
fuck her if she is unaware
of the high high shelf
upon which literature
upon which art belongs
must rescue poetry
from beneath her feet
elevate it to heaven
from where it came
to earth, to us
but not intended
to be trampled on
not for her to clean her hip with
offered to clean her hip
with my tongue,
lick it until clean
do what dogs do
poetry of that though
don't suppose she can appreciate
how can I put first
who'd put poetry second
or put poetry last
or put poetry down
© Obediah Michael Smith, 2011
Written between 3:05 p.m. on Monday,
March 14 and 2:18 a.m. on Wednesday,
March 16, 2011
posted by Obie Quiet at 8:59 PM
2 Comments:
"I just want to love you, Dee, punish you with my tongue lapping, between your legs like waves"
Wow! This must be the best line in any of your erotic poems. It's something about water and sex that is so potent and not in the least way diluted. An amazing and unique image!
Parts 1 and 2 are of course my favorites, in part 3 you take on a pastor-like authority in which you condemn this female.
Overall, while I was reading this poem I couldn't help thinking how all-encompassing it was or is - a short story poem with all the important aspects of this relationship.
Are you touched by what we share - what you inspire - what I write - by your assessments, your divine comments? Taken all together, Dee, often, as at present, what we share would leave me crying or teary-eyed. I am penetrated over and over and again and again, like needles or like crochet needles through fabric. I am too as if being fashioned. How deeply, Dee, are you affected by all this? Are you made over again and again as I am? WE ARE RECREATING ME. Are we also recreating you or do you hold yourself apart from being so deeply affected? Are you numb to pleasure and to pain? Are you too numb to change? How I love when we are simultaneously tender, soft, kind - both needing to be kind and needing kindness or to love and to be loved. How savage, how upset I was last night on the phone. It was surprising to me too. It came as if right out of the blue. FORGIVE ME, Dee. Remember also, messages exchanges over some months that I stumbled upon on fb, and all of a sudden, I was looking at us from the outside - from a jolting, different perspective. I was trying to adjust to that discovery, that view, that reading when you called. That I suppose is why I was all out of- and way out of whack. FORGIVE ME. I BEG YOU. 7:23 p.m. 18.03.11.
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