Naughty Thursday

Welcome to Naughty Thursday. It’s a day to celebrate love, eat all the chocolate cake you want without feeling guilty and of course do whatever makes you feel just a little bit bad.
For me, it’s my last complete day of the week before my husband comes home for two days and leaves me again-- so it’s my time to just breathe.
In his honor, I’m posting two poems he can’t believe I-- “his pure as the driven snow” bride-- wrote-- and that is why I have Naughty Thursdays because I can be this naughty side of myself-- not quite so pure and not quite so nice.
We all have some saltiness in our lives, so why not let it out.
The first one is a performance piece of poetry I used to perform in college. It is in need of a new title and I’m not crazy about some of the lines-- plus the last stanza doesn’t work. But since we are all just a little bit naughty today, I am hoping for some help-- any help because I do like this poem.
My husband’s response, “I can’t believe you actually read that in public.”
Yes, I did and my mother was sitting in the front row -- amused.
I’d read it to you, but I don’t have the technology.
The second poem is one I wrote in response to Andrew Marvell’s “To His Coy Mistress.” If you haven’t read that poem, it’s quite a little steamy morsel of words-- perfect for Naughty Thursday.

The sweetness of it all sickened me.
Oh, I dreamed of it
The thick, rich fudge-filled piece of heaven.
A delicacy best enjoyed with a friend,
But I’m a big girl now.
I think I’ll do this one solo.

Six layers
Creamy chocolate cake kissing
Fudgey frosting-- all thick and sticky.
Moist spongy pores promising
Ooey bursts of chocolate goo,
A mountain of white swirling up
Surrounding the chocolate,
Winding its way around-- each circle tightening
Its grasp upon the sweet treat,
locking it in place.

Masquerading beneath a mountain of white,
Icy vanilla cream sweats against a fudgey inferno.
Sweet cream seeps into chocolate crevices,
a vanilla creek flows over an almond back,
down the kissing cake and off the plate.
It’s cool drops staining the floor.

I imagined crunching the nutty back
and inhaling the aroma teasing my tongue--
with saltiness.
The succulent satin slipping down my throat
leaving its scent behind.
It won’t be easy to take it slowly,
but I am up for the challenge.

That first bite
Shoveling through the mountain of white,
My trusty fork penetrates
the colossal cake below.
I scoop up a load of ice and goo
and raise the overloaded fork to my lips.
Slowly I encircle the treasure
to scrape the sticky with my teeth.
For a moment I sit savoring.

Hot sticky syrup clings
Comforting every inch
As the cool icy cream caresses
and tickles against my cheek,
flirting with the salty.
It’s too much.
This hot and cold confusion
intensifies the flavor
And the sweetness of it all makes me sick.
It’s an all too familiar flavor.
Hot contentment left cold
A facade of sweetness with a bitter aftertaste.



And now--- poem number two-- if you are up to it.

To Her Lusty Lover: A Response to Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress

Were you man enough and mine,
this lustiness might sway
and we could
Linger in love’s liquor-- You-- the master
powerful and dominating teacher.
Me-- your seductive slave
naïve little girl
because that’s what you want.
My eyes would grow heavy,
half-closed-- focused
on you--
a fragile lamb, my body
awaits-- hot hands.
Sacrifice my body with
burning embers-- Brand
each inch with your scent.
Run-- your fingers upon
tingling flesh-- Lips
pay homage to each breast
Tender within, a crescendo
like you said
wrap ourselves in flames
make the sun run
Up-- but time
We live for today, remember?
You must-- your flame died just as
mine began.
Therefore, sit in your lusty chair,
offer a thousand I love you’s
And if by chance we should ever
burn as one before--
How did you put it?--
The Jews conform
Well then count yourself
lucky
the worms didn’t brunch
upon my virginity.