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Posts Tagged ‘pleasure’

CONTENT WARNING: If the idea of a woman sensually touching herself is not your jam, this video and poem are not for you. Please do not watch. But if you are at all curious about a new language for women’s pleasure, we made this for you. Totally tasteful, totally suggestive. This is what metaphor is for. And if you like it, please share. “No Longer Empty-Handed” is the twelfth track on RISKING LOVE, a spoken-word album that explores how we might fall more deeply in love with the world as it is, even when that seems impossible. 

RISKING LOVE was made in collaboration with the amazing guitarist Steve Law. Video by the glorious Holiday Mathis
To purchase RISKING LOVE, visit here.
Spotify: here ; Deezer: here ; Pandora: here ; Apple Music: here ; YouTube Music: here
And if you are a member of the Recording Academy (or know a voting member for the Grammy Awards), please consider this album for the Spoken Word Poetry Category. 

Video and Audio Releases from RISKING LOVE to Date
Safety Net ;  The Precious Matter of Love ; I Want an Interlude with Mr. Clean ; Into the Questions ; For the One Who Is Gone ; In Case You Don’t Know Already ; The Long Marriage ; The Broken Heart Goes Dancing ; Still Here ; Self-Portrait as Tuning Fork ; Because My Heart Is Where You Now Dwell ; No Longer Empty-Handed

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Commingling


 
What if our flesh commingled became the mother of light and sound, the vast word, the ocean forgotten at birth?
                  —James Tipton, “What If, When We Held Each Other”
 
 
I love it when I float on the pond in summer
like a human water lily,
the top of me sun-drunk and heat-buzzed,
seduced by shine, blossoming into blaze,
the rest of me held by the cool and swoony dark.
 
It’s like having two lovers at once—
one playful, one taciturn—
both of them tracing the shape of me
in the way only they know how,
both of them enticing me to fall in love
 
with having a form that shivers and stipples
and craves and longs to be found.
I desire them both,
the one that invites me deeper in,
the one that bids me rise.
 
The one that caresses with liquid tongues,
the one that strokes me hot and bright.
How I love to have a body then,
nakedly alive, enticed by sky,
embraced by the deep,
 
blissed and beguiled by the kiss of it all,
the one original kiss that links me back
to the miracle of being become flesh.
How good it is then to be limb and skin.
How good to be a nexus of firing nerves.
 
How shameless I am as I beg the world,
touch me, please, touch me,
please, make me yours.

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Paradise


after “Pleasure” by Rick Barot

It was a garden, they said,
with an apple tree and one
man and one woman,
always blissful.
And while I don’t doubt
this, too, is paradise,
I know well the paradise
when one woman is alone
in the garden pulling up
bindweed by the roots,
knowing she’ll never get it all.
And somehow there is pleasure
in the endless pulling.
I know the paradise
when fifty-thousand people
sing together a song
about heartbreak.
And the paradise of a lover’s
arms when I’m weeping
is somehow even more paradisical
than when the world feels easy.
I’m not saying I want
things to go wrong.
I, too, pray for peace.
But I know now that pain
does not preclude paradise.
The bruised apple
makes a sweet sauce.
The arm that aches
still holds the beloved child.
And after a fire,
the world grows back
with such startling green.

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More



 
 
Like scratching
an itch
past the point
of satisfaction,
I fall in love
with golden slant
of low-angled light
that floods the field
on this summer night
till every part of me
is raw.

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Nimbu

            with thanks to Paula Lepp for the introduction

This morning the Nimbu tea

reminds me there is so much goodness

yet to discover. Three days ago

I’d never heard of Nimbu, Nimbu,

much less tasted the bright citrus shine,

the full and sweet caramel body.

Now I can’t imagine a morning

without it warm and round on my tongue.

Nimbu. Nimbu. Just saying the name

makes me smile. Just a sip makes

me think of all the pleasures yet to come,

pleasures I don’t even know how to name,

pleasures just waiting to be found.

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the only pleasure as great

as nibbling the chocolates—

the delicious anticipation

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Two Pleasures

 

 

 

in the kitchen

slow dancing

no music

 

*

 

scent of pumpkin pie—

some things

are always welcome

 

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Not once
has the worm
said to the apple
your flesh
does not taste
good enough.
But it is so much
nicer, you don’t
need to be a worm
to understand,
when the fruit
is full of sugar
and the dark,
lonely work
is also sweet.

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Ripe

purple handed
after mulberry picking—
imagine if
all pleasures
came with stain

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The truth is, we don’t really want to be free from desire or to admit that clinging to the pleasures of the senses—the taste of delicious food; the sound of music, gossip, or a joke; the touch of a sexual embrace—ends unavoidably in disappointment and suffering. We don’t have to deny that pleasant feelings are pleasurable. But we must remember that like every other feeling, pleasure is impermanent.
—Bhante Gunaratana, “Desire and Craving,” Tricycle Magazine

so soon I find it—
the bottom
of the potato chip bag

*

make us more bonobo
than chimpanzee, preferring
to fuck than fight

*

all night, the same
refrain after every bit of news:
April Fools

*

sound of flamenco
guitar, I will pay you a hundred poems
to play one more hour

*

missing this:
your lips, your lips, too long gone
between each kiss

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