Fair warning, lovers: This one will be very different from the others. (Are you reading this at the office, by the way? Because you might not want to be reading this at the office. But then again, maybe you really do.)
Consistency is divine but so is disruption. So is surprise.
This post is not about how to’s or fixing or changing anything. It’s about feeling.
Feeling, it seems to me, is a precious and increasingly scarce form of artistry. People are numbed out all over the damn place trying to avoid feelings of pain but also, in more cases than we seem to realize, trying to avoid feelings of good honest organic pleasure (because, you know, the guilt and the guilt and the guilt and everything – and then there’s the guilt).
Odd things, we.
Maybe it’s better (more accurate? more tragic?) to say that avoiding our feelings has become a twisted art form in itself.
Somehow, in these overcharged, overstimulating, hyper-sexed times, we end up numb and ashamed when all we really crave is to be touched and awakened.
Somehow, while being tossed around inside a culture that glamorizes sex, we end up shut down and afraid instead of opened up and pleasurably fulfilled.
What I am about to ask you to do is straight forward: I’d like to invite you to feel something. Feel without judgment. Feel with your mind open to the idea that pleasure is good and delicious and necessary.
Simple. Beautiful. Rare.
Warning number two (okay, WTF is about to happen, right, seriously with the warnings): If you’re too hell-bent on trying to intellectualize this – to reason with it, explain it, analyze it, get it right – you will destroy it.
If you don’t trust me, you won’t do it. I hope I’ve earned it.
If you don’t trust yourself, you won’t do it. I hope you’ve earned it.
If you don’t trust the Universe to hold you and stroke you and love you madly into shattered pieces and back again, you won’t do it.
What follows are four sensual poems, each one written by me, and all I am asking you to do is to notice how they make you feel. Take your time and let them play through you.
Are they erotica?
I am only asking you to let them touch you in whatever way they do.
You ready, babe? You comfortable-not-comfortable?
Perfect. Let’s do.
// currency //
the candy of you drips
its final drop into me
there will come a time when exposure
will be the only seductive and appreciated
an ancient debt will be required of you
and willingly you’ll give it
until then, false gods watch the shadows
genuflect before crisscrossing the streets
as you sit on the painted edge of a wooden chair
with pinned together legs, listless,
staring into the face
of a clock.
// recipe //
make the sound of who i am in the white noise
drag it all down and fill it with holes
in the ground.
i’m not waiting any longer for this.
rush along caverns of barbed wire
laced in vain.
i’m not where you thought i’d be.
fold yourself three times and let me watch.
open up: taste familiar? this is the recipe
we measured ourselves
for a thickened crush of dragon’s heads
twisted like vines around the whirl of blades
in these elegant words.
i’ve gone and left everything so
what is this worth?
the hand in my hand
is just your skeleton
// afraid //
tell me this and i’ll release
your hands, my love, be still:
how much do you
how much do you blister to say
with lungs collapsing in.
how often do you bite that
truth lusted tongue and what
do you sell yourself for
blindfolded, wet with
a taste for things that collect the air
from those precious glossy veins
you carry on pulsing in
what are you afraid of
// soak //
radio static is coming in sharp now
an addictive prick of snapping and shussshhh
your voice is mourning or a
laugh, symbols of a language i was taught
i pull the shades and damp sheets
over me, press together my lashes,
my ear to this machine.
the noise makes everything in the room, in my mouth,
the rain is falling up into the stars, made to watch
our attempt at light competing
it’s hollow but the transmitter picks it up:
a ricochet of thoughts stampeding
the thunder of a thousand wings thrusting in my chest
every heart that ever tried and missed
Thank you for reading. If all this did was allow you a few private moments to tap into the feelings, sensations, and emotions in your body, mind and spirit, then it was worthwhile.
I believe in the spiritual and physical power of art to do two incredibly remarkable things at the exact same time: ground us back into our bodily sensations, and expand our minds and spirits far out beyond our perceived limitations.
Erotica is art intended to arouse sexual desire. Recently, some beautiful souls have asked me if that is my intention with my poetry. (I love this question and I love those of you who asked it.)
My intention with what I create is to allow for the possibility for it to touch you on all levels: sexual, physical, emotional, spiritual, and creative. I’m open to that. If you are, too, you will feel it. That’s the way energy works.
I think that’s quite tremendously cool. In a world that uses cheap sex to numb out, I want to use erotica to plug us back in, turn us back on, wake us back up.
There is something devastatingly beautiful in allowing the natural experience of that kind of ache, that kind of humble willingness to connect on a level deep and wide. There is a bravery and strength in that kind of vulnerability.
That kind of deep self-respect, self-care, and self-love. That way of welcoming the full experience of who we are.
In pure form, sexuality is inextricable from spirituality.
“This golden age was a time of experimentation – and the experimentation involved using yoga, massage, meditation, and Tantra – all designed to open participants to the free movement of kundalini energy in the body. The goal was to use that which is pleasurable to build up, strengthen and move the energy up the spine toward the top of the head, and in this process, to open to a deeper spirituality.”
My intention is to remind us of the strange sexiness of who we are as fascinating, wild creatures. To allow a space to open up within us for the surrender to our incredible mystery, magic, and energy.
A sensual place where we give intellect a rest and let intuition, instinct, and feeling take over.
To open up and surrender to the boundless vibrations of curious love that we naturally are.
“(I write stories, poems, and novels. I usually write my stuff along the sex trail to keep them awake, and while they’re awake I give them the rest of it. I sneak it to them. I give them morphine and then pull out their slim souls.)”
Charles Bukowski from Absence of the Hero
One of the sickest ironies of our time is that we are oversexed and yet we are starved for touch. Hungry for art, literature, erotica that touches us on every level, that honors us on every level.
We are starved for the pleasure of seduction.
We are hopeful but afraid to feel what turns us on. But we do not have to be, you guys. We do not have to be.
We can give the art of touch space in our lives, in our work, in our art, in our relationships (both with partners and with ourselves).
“Lady I will touch you with my mind.
Touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene
(lady i will
touch you with my mind.) Touch
you, that is all,
lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite ease
the poem which i do not write.”
e.e. cummings, XVII, erotic poems
How many of us dare to allow ourselves to experience the pleasure and strangeness we are capable of manifesting? How many without guilt, pain, judgment, shame?
Art is the gift of pure mystery in forms we can see, taste, touch, finger, hear. Imagine.
That’s all I’m inviting you to do. My god, how we grope in this life for things to fill us needlessly. When we are not empty. If only we would allow ourselves to feel what we already have within us. What a feast.
When we create with abandon and truth, what comes forward can be felt deeply within the body and at the same time propels us beyond the body, beyond the mind, into the divine expression of all that we are beyond what we can even comprehend.
Erotica, art, reminds us how it feels for the body and the soul to touch one another. When is the last time you let that astound you, my beautiful love?
Body and soul to touch, to work, to pleasure, to deliver, to release, to birth.
When both are willing and ready to come together:
P.S. If you would like to further explore this topic, I invite you to check out the latest collection by the exotic brilliance that is Mitch Gobel (of Mitch Gobel Resin Art) called Sex Is Art. EXTREME CONTENT WARNING on this one, chicks and dudes. While made with affection, this collection is also very explicit and decidedly raw. You can follow Mitch Gobel on Instagram @mitchgobel_resinart and his partner @sallymustang if you’d like to see how their story unfolds. (It will soon be a book – you heard it here first. x)
P.P.S. Thank you, as always, for sharing my work with your family and friends. It means everything to me to know that the work I have chosen to do with all my heart is making a positive impact on a broken world. Bless you, stay fierce, love you so. Allison Marie xx