It’s worth another read tomorrow. Out loud. Get the rhythm. Feel Mr. Lawrence in the words. His touch, his wild love,
his furtive vigor. His pointed mouth.
He loved with a kind of abandon and wildness that I understand. Flushed and grand and naked! oh goodness!
I could live an entirety without the bother of clothes. And feel my balls sway in the wind and thump themselves against my crotch and be happy in my nakedness. Giving it all away to anyone in need.
Laying my head upon your fragrant lap and you loving me there, among the pearls and gold, among the fruits of your being, among the rawness of your entrance.
God! The magnificence of such a desire is breathtaking!
Boiling and boiling and boiling along in the bubbly simmer of our lives is discovery. We are sunk! We are poison to ourselves! We are lovers off a cliff and flying! In hopeless darkness we hold hands and I bite your lip.
Why must you claw at me? Why must you have me inside?
Oh the goodness of the flesh and the flesh-ness of the good, my lover carnal.
Burning all the way down. Even within it burns. A constant burn. The burning of all things forgotten, all things unsaid for a lifetime. It burns and yet is not consumed in burning. The bush. The bush was there for Abraham, burning but not consumed.
This is a poem of dancing with the devil in His own saloon.
And who has seen the moon, who has not seen
Her rise from out the chamber of the deep,
Flushed and grand and naked, as from the chamber
Of finished bridegroom, seen her rise and throw
Confession of delight upon the wave,
Littering the waves with her own superscription
Of bliss, till all her lambent beauty shakes towards us
Spread out and known at last, and we are sure
That beauty is a thing beyond the grave,
That perfect, bright experience never falls
To nothingness, and time will dim the moon
Sooner than our full consummation here
In this odd life will tarnish or pass away.
d. h. lawrence