Here are two which are both erotic in the wider definition, though one is without and one includes sexual feelings. No apologies for the British/Australian spelling. Both of these show ‘Never Published’ on my database (Filemaker Pro), which I am hoping is accurate. I can’t imagine lining without love, although there are some people who are ‘asexual’ and have no real interest in practising it. I am not one of those. I’ve been well aware of the differences between male and female from long before I had any knowledge of anamomy. And my sexuality has always been focussed on girls and then women. Conventional and not in the least unusual!
love without sex
Love that lasts forever is a myth, the cynics say.
I have to laugh.
I know it doesn’t matter what the future is,
our love needs no backup disc, even the trash can
holds no menace.
What if we love, live with, marry others?
these years can never be forgotten,
years when we learned to trust each other,
held hands, shared our thoughts and fears,
laughed, danced, together, with affection.
I was inspired to write poems
and some were published.
You grew in confidence to change direction
and all the time we learned from each other,
from the Web, from our children,
from explorers of the universe. It was good.
Sometimes I grumbled, sometimes you criticised,
sometimes – more often! – we hugged and kissed.
And yet I never felt I had to touch you
with my lust or get you in my bed.
My early need to be possessive faded in time,
You were surprised by my desire
but treated it with courtesy.
Together we converged until the two of us
could say the dangerous words; our passion
separated from affection,
our affection from jealousy,
our friendship strong and certain,
our confidence in love’s manifestation here
enhanced by our experience of joy.
Now I know our love will last forever,
even beyond our own lives, since tiny ripples
of our affection spread through friends and families.
And within ourselves, whatever time may bring,
these years will live in memories,
warm memories of smiles, embraces,
driving together, phone calls, healing hands,
good times at the computer, with our cats,
each meeting the other’s needs,
being there for the other, giving love.
undefinable imperative
The imperative in the blood, the gut, the brain
says you are beauty, have beauty, move
in a field of force that snaps the compass of my desire
towards you regardless of true north.
The infant knows a cartoon face is human;
I know your lines, shapes, colours, and your scent
are what I want, no, not what I want but some esoteric
structure found by neurologists in the brain,
barely understood, fits a buried template to the image
and activates a switch which has no override.
You trust me, show me injured flesh, I nod sagely,
assess your bruises, show calm concern
and all the while that inner circuit flashes its alarm:-
‘This is what you need! Act! Act Act!’
That skin, those curves, delicious sweet convergence
where thighs and belly meet, breasts part, hips swell,
oh god, your beauty is beyond these useless words
I use in vain to concretise the undefinable.
© Malcolm Miller 2013
