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| Blogs > Mariana_Trench_ > poetic disambiguation |
Xochiquertzal
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Xochiquertzal If I were a cinnamon Grater Pulverizing- I would riddle your bed With shavings, particles and leaves- The bark dust On your pillow, Where my hair lay Billowing a cloud Of black lust. Your chest and Shoulders would reek - you could never walk Through places, past Colleagues, waiting without the knowledge Of what my fingers Floating over You had done. All who approached your Periphery would inhale, Something... The scent of me upon you, As standing under rain Gutters, my monsoon. Scorching my legs Apart, To quench your You touched your belly to my hands in the cool dry air, Your calluses will hear A voiceless whisper "I am the cinnamon" My fingertips And you'll think of Flan napolitano, Flan de coco, And more likely, Flan de leche. Here the upper thigh at this smooth pasture neighbor to my hair or the crease that cuts your back. This ankle. That one. Flan de huevo. They will be known And you'll inhale them. I could hardly Glance at you - the heavy Room a heavy red smell, A heavy curtain of ruddy And we'll float above it... I will touch you Like water drips upon Flowers cascading Over my rip flesh, and our bodies will Float, remaining free, you will hold me and When we break - Our entire bodies We'll look, we'll smell. We'll climb the bank Of the river, Scramble upwards, And search our skin For the missing perfume Of one another, Till it returns Against the cold sheets - My petals fragrant again. Obliterating the White-blue day, Several hours Will pass I will touch you like I buried my hands - My nostrils will be Traveling The bite of you Chili-fierce Coating your Arid kisses Seeking and burning Fire in my throat, Your eyes have Found and they are Clasping-simmering My hands upon the Molcajete Heavy and profound- My wrists Defeating your Toughness. "Xochiquertzal" by Susan Boulet In Aztec mythology, Xochiquetzal was a goddess associated with concepts of fertility, beauty, and female sexual power, serving as a protector of young mothers and a patroness of pregnancy, childbirth, and the crafts practised by women such as weaving and embroidery. Unlike several other figures in the complex of Aztec female earth deities connected with agricultural and sexual fecundity, Xochiquetzal is always depicted as an alluring and youthful woman, richly attired and symbolically associated with vegetation and in particular flowers. By connotation, Xochiquetzal is also representative of human desire, pleasure, and excess, appearing also as patroness of prostitutes and artisans involved in the manufacture of luxury items, such as gourmet foods and valuable spices. (from Wikipedia)       |
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Bravo..... Intoxicating......every sense the bitter the spice....mix with a Dark Chocolat'.........
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I can almost smell this poem. All the variety, spiced, heated, sexual surround the mind in an intoxicating aroma. Nothing nicer than the hot sweet smell after lovemaking. You just cant get enough of that. I so agree.  I am glad you enjoyed this. It is intoxicating. You often hear of 'sub space,' which is a place I know well. I go there with some lovers. But there's another space, a space apart- the place of sensual love that can also separate one from the everyday and the mundane. Maybe sensation is heightened or maybe it's just segmented away and sorted. I just know that if I am close with someone I can 'hear' them smiling on the phone, I can see if they are sitting or standing (whilst in that same phone call)...I can smell their body differently after their orgasm...I can taste in their skin or more especially, in their come, sometimes what they have eaten. I have sometimes walked into a room and seen no evidence of fucking but smelled it in the air. That's a funny kind of sensation. Almost like having x-ray vision. Another thing I am recalling - I once tasted that a man had been eating dark chocolate that day, after giving him a BJ. Again, a man whose body I knew well... but it was peculiar to be able to discern this distinct flavor and when asked, be told, why yes I did have a mocha latte with dark chocolate. And I know that it's very important for me to have certain characteristics (the pieces of the whole) just so because of this. Characteristics - for example- such as the level of light in the room and where it's coming from...the feel of the linens on the bed...the temperature (high maintenance, MT?) At least, for the epic lovemaking session - these things have been shown to make a difference. As BeyondConfession notes in his recent blog posts, a big precentage of a woman's orgasm comes from being relaxed, feeling safe, feeling trust, a certain desirable environment. I think too, comfort can be about environment as much as demeanor of the partner/s. Not required for a quickie! LOL I think this tasting and smelling of specifics takes a certain special kind of connection, though. For most it's just the typical licking up of arousal and heat and come and sweaty flesh. Not that those are bad flavors.
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I lose myself in the scent of cinnamon. Lovely. I began this poem in my mind, brainstorming...and it was in part inspired by your response to Apollo and Daphne. The remarks about bay leaves and the laurel tree. So thank YOU. Then this conflunenced with many recent appearances of cinnamon: in conversations on the phone, in IM, in my blog, in my baths (cinnamon essential oil), and even in my cooking. So how could I not indulge? The universe clearly wanted me to consciously consider cinnamon. I should add, I once made a large sculpture of Kali which had 'Indian' spices embedded within it (cloves, cardamom pods, cinnamon oil, pepper, etc.) I am really pleased with this particular poem. Some just work better than others. If I displayed this sculpture again I think I might rework this poem to make it 'Indian' rather than 'Aztec,' and put it with the display. Hmmm. MT
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I can almost smell this poem. All the variety, spiced, heated, sexual surround the mind in an intoxicating aroma. Nothing nicer than the hot sweet smell after lovemaking. You just cant get enough of that. She broke your throne, she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the Halleluljah. -Cohen
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I lose myself in the scent of cinnamon. Lovely. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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Dear Timmy, I am so glad you are enjoying my blog. I read yours over and I sort of knew we would be a good match. And, yes, it was meant to excite. I'm fairly consistent in what I write and how I write- erotica/erotically. Have a great rest of the afternoon! Raining here, beyond cats and dogs into the realm of tigers and wolves. MT 
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