Even Should Lawrence Expiate The Pity Poem by Trevor Maynard

Even should Lawrence expiate the pity
Describe in metaphor as he will the fig and snake
None of this is as anything to this
Two centuries later exceeding the equal of the take

I mean, what goes through your mind
By which I mean, what goes through mine
Visions, fantasies, pictured of all women
And yet only one of any consequence, thine

I look to the bann on the left
As the right chokes and splices – pulls open
Just friction, not faction, not real,
It’s the relief, it’s to be bad rhyming – copin’

Romance is not dead, it is waning,
It is wanting, it is wanted,
Needed as pollen needs a bee to suckle
Take me, take me, I am the flaunted

‘Tis age, ‘tis familiarity says my cat
Black upon the mat with a nose of grey
I stroke his fur, I caress her skin,
She sleeps through my engorged way

God, it’s so gross, so visceral,
If only we could go back and experience anew
First contact, the joy of exploration, of not knowing
The triggers, the g spots, the morning dew

I wake, night after the night before,
Fell alone, woke with gentle finger with my rasp
Her eyelids rem with dreams and I wonder
How such a beautiful one as she is within my grasp

You see, in the cold light of day
Or even in warm rays of sunrise
With equal measure I am of sadness and joy
We are the stuff of eternal truth and terminal lies