Disorder

I have been in love
with women
who have to have a place
for everything
and everything in its place

I deeply thank
the women
for guiding me to consent

Nothing is a greater turn on
Guiding me home
Than the moment
when we both come together
and agree

The play
exciting
and beautiful


At once celebrating
forcing to question
everything about myself
and to learn everything
about you


She drove away
in her black bmw


Pain
echoes against defenses
vanity, insecurity
and beauty

I walk away
with a passion
to finally end

Passive aggression
and narcissism

I accept the brutal role
of consensuality

And the neighbor who lives next to you
that must have heard us
And the couple in the apartment below
your head
between her legs
one night

But in the line
at the haunted house
She turned angrily and said

I'm no carpet muncher.


So we asked the magic eightball
which replied:

You may rely on it

We own
from our play
and consent
and some say
disorder

You lift me up
You life me on
You have given us


A secret smile
that passes between us

Whenever we meet.

You follow me.
And I follow you.



Comments

Laura Palmer said…

Looky here….
I found something-

Something about ‘sharing a secret smile’ with a woman years ago.

Years after you wrote this, you wrote a poem you intended me (& maybe several others) to read, about your current woman and you said “We all share a secret smile”.

We all got the same words. They’re still coming, too.

Now the retired career womanizer says he’s settled down with a second wife and family and isn’t all about consuming mass quantities of women anymore, that you know better now.
Well, breaking news: you’re still doing mean shit.
You’re just really strict about hiding from anyone you treated like shit, because you’re still more about getting away with it and self-preservation than atoning, apologizing, accountability, et al.

Many times over the last 3 years, I would plead with you to somehow tell me if I’d misinterpreted your words. I did, a lot. And it hurt. A lot. Every time, you could’ve said or signaled something to me that I got it wrong, but you didn’t and stayed vague and mysterious so you could enjoy knowing you were still hurting me: Sadism.