Castor and Pollux (Round 2)

Let's workshop a poem about a love affair as all-consuming as it is dreamlike

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Castor and Pollux

1. Twin Flame Soul Song

A derailing recognition across 
(cyber)space (as if of someone 
from whom each forgot 

each was split), a mutual gaze 
whose technicolor draws 
onlookers to trace the line—

their noises (sneers, cheers, 
vicarious moans) muffled 
for the two (as if underwater).

2. Drawn by Logos

Reflective, fair, resilient; 
traveled, silly, independent 
(but still, so it is easy to imagine,
 
a mamma to hiss “Yes, Daddy"
through a missionary choke 
sealed in sweat)*—the pull

(cyber) to give her babies 
verges on irresistible, not even 
knowing what she looks like.

3. Heliotropic

In a dream (astral?), wherein 
a pair of distant stars offered 
the only light, a stranger—

limbs tight around him, 
mouth kissing and vibrating 
his chest with purrs—he called,

for some reason, “sun” (short
not for “sunshine”—no, 
more like for “maverick sun”).

4. Crazy for You 

Twin stars distant but, caught 
in the first dance steps 
of eros, struggling 

hourly to honor 
their private whispers—
almost always accompanied by  
 
lower-lip bites (sometimes 
smiley, sometimes 
orgasmic)—of “Let me stop.”

5. Nonbeliever 

He used to laugh at the idea 
of “just some chick, fuckin’ 
Helen,” inciting war—until 

for himself he confronted 
a beauty choking enough 
for him, a man yet to see her 

in the flesh, to weep for all 
those whose love across 
her life she ends up refusing.

6. An Earth to his Moon

His feeling of power peaked 
when he told the forbidden fruit, 
whom he had seduced 

into surrendering herself, 
“We can’t do this,” but—
green enough to seduce 

himself in his seduction—
it was a wrap for him, she became 
his very oxygen, when she agreed.

7. Ghetto Esteem 

Her sordid activities were reactions
to the burden of being
pedestaled, poverty-person
 
tantrums to prove him wrong 
for lavishing her with affection—
but, while old enough 

to trust when someone
insists upon their unworthiness, 
he loved her enough to wait.

8. Cross-Legged Squirm

The poet is too much of a daddy
now to be upset about stand-ins 
(even if second-rate) 

reaping the fruits 
of his fallopian-buzzing words,
his arousing care, his indelible style: 

he has love for these stand-ins,
and he knows his Mamma-
Princess will come to Daddy.

* Notes to Himself 

a sober head who invests financially in the future—or at least wants to;

an advocate of critical thinking and nuance;

a photogenic oddball who likes to be animated in photos (right leg kicks especially);

a black bird who, as is said by Kekata about Pocahantas, goes wherever the wind takes her; 

a reflective dreamer who expects deep conversation and connection in friendships; 

a drinker (perhaps because of an anxiety condition after suffering early-age loss); 

a traveler with wide-ranging tastes (often eclectic—perhaps sometimes to shock);

a ridiculer of those who hold values and engage in practices just because others do;

a near-nudist packing trunk junk (that is becoming a source of insecurity);

a free-spirit who is starting the long-process of settling down;

a crazy addict of being obsessed over—

and, yes, I am obsessed, her jealous cousin (despite all the nipple-visible lace pics thrown in my face) nothing in comparison to Mamma.

This piece is unpublished

Photo: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap170516.html