Warning: this one's rated M for a good, solid reason (interpretable as birds and bees); proceed under your own risk!
Sandalwood Serenade
Risqué beauty glimpsed between the lines.
Wisps of incense.
Like fingers,
Coiling and wafting and
Stroking the dainty tinge of your cheeks.
•
"What are they for?"
You yawned into my neck.
What are we doing?
Why are we doing this?
•
… We are doing this for love.
What we are
Doing
Is love.
Stripping it back
And stitching ourselves together
With a fine thread of red.
•
Now let's play nice tonight.
•
The
Wisps of incense
Will ensure you don't pass
The night in coy reverence.
So delicious.
So delicious you are;
A perfect porcelain dame
Whom I fear
Cannot handle
The ferocity of love.
For the night of the lovers
Is no easy game to play.
•
But be done with that, and
Let me be your teacher again.
Let me
Suckle the dirty scent of sandalwood
Deep into that sweet virgin heart.
Let it burn your throat;
The sweet, salty and bitter
Will not kill you.
•
… So beautiful.
So beautiful you are;
Rose and aglow
In the shadow of the brazier.
Whose crafty fingers are
Responsible
For this masterpiece?
•
Show me more.
•
And give me your all before the night rots and decays.
For there is no one else
Who will
Appraise them with a touch
More sensual than mine.
I know what you want.
I know what you love
And I know
Where that catalyst lies.
Tell me, my luscious chrysanthemum:
What other
Bed-wetting specimen
Will not use such weapons as an excuse
To shackle you?
•
I
Am merely
Lavishing what you deserve.
•
For you're such a good little boy.
•
Crimson sun over a white plateau.
Lover by day and
Moaning hostess by night.
Promise me
I'll be the only one
Who will ever listen to
The rustle of your eager robes.
Promise me
My gnarled fingers
Will be the only fingers you turn to
When the night is young;
When the lovers ache
And the incubus reigns the lark.
•
Now let's hear you scream again, my dear.
•
For as the
Sandalwood wisps
Engulf our bleeding passion,
You will be mine
Before the night is wasted away.
Long story short: one day, my mother and I stopped at a herbs-store. I had been waiting patiently by a stack of incense and was vying for an inspiration, when I caught a whiff of sandalwood, a common ingredient in incense. I also knew that sandalwood was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, so I thought-hey, why not write lemony poetry? After all, if there is lemony stories, then perhaps the thing could work for poems too.
And besides, writing what I hope was decent lemony poetry might make up for the lack of lemony stories whatsoever up here. Perhaps if I tried to excel in lemony poetry, then I could be forgiven for still being tipsy-turvy with lemony stories... Or I could avoid the genre altogether. But that won't be any fun for any of us, won't it?
Because no collection is complete without a little mischievous ChuNi every once in a while.
-Plumeria-hi