Human beings are sexual. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be here.
If all of that wasn’t bad enough, I started posing as a live model for artists in the village where I lived when I was fifty-seven. Now, in my mid sixties, I still pose as a live model from time to time. Yep. That’s a sketch of me above.
I also sometimes write erotic poetry, like the short piece below, which I penned what seems like a very very long time ago. I thought it would be fun to make it public during National Poetry Month in April 2020 so as to give people something to talk about other than COVID-19.
At its core is the paradox of connection and separateness of lovers: even as we are a part of each other, so are we also apart from each other. Always both.
© 2019 punkie
i feel your
body on mine
heavy on my hips
pressed hard between
my legs, light on my belly.
your torso is raised, and, were
you to lower yourself fully onto me,
your weight, twice that of mine, would
surely crush me, my chest, and the breath within,
and so there is space between us even in love’s intimacy,
even when our bodies are bound together as one, even then,
we are a/part
© 2019 Susan Macaulay . I invite you to share my poetry and posts, but please do not reprint, reblog or copy and paste them in their entirety without my permission. Thank you.