My Lord Who I Do Not Know

My Lord,

I know you in language,
by your fingertips,
or your tongue,
or your eyes,
or your voice,
or heavy petting,
or lip smacking.

I do not know the scent of your release,
or the heaviness of your desire,
or the longing in your sighs,
or the length of your reach.

I do not know your grip,
your push,
your gasp for a breath,
your touch,
your taste,
your hunger.

My Lord,

I know you in vocabulary,
in depiction.

I know you in daydream
I have felt your limit,
where I have forfeited myself
in the aroma
of your pleasure,
where I have met you at the top
of the mountain,
the highest peak,
where we have gasped for air
fingers entwined,
legs braided,
excreting deliquescent

My Lord,

I speak in daydream,
lost in lust language
where I know you.

15 thoughts on “My Lord Who I Do Not Know

  1. the mix of passion – was it pleasure or pain, was it consensual or hypnotic, but the feeling is still the same, since it is such an addiction. You write deeply about feelings many fear to go near. You work is significant …

  2. Reblogged this on A Garden of Delights and commented:
    I only just found Maggie Mae’s page (well, not technically true… I peeked a few weeks ago, but clearly I didn’t spend enough time there) Please! Take the time to read not only this piece but so many others of hers. I despair to ever write poetry of such intensity.

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