Fumes of the extinguished fire lingers filling the room with scents of wax and burnt wick.
The smoke, though invisible to me in the dark, reminds me of your thin figure, your fire.
Your sweet aroma of earth and leaf, tobacco leaves damp and smoldering, beckons me
and recalls your soothing sedimented richness through my blood, surging in my veins.
I had my first taste on the elementary school playground seduced by smoldering cool
you were when introduced to me by a school mate, someone you just met days before.
She wanted me to know you better, so we met by chance secreted on the very edges
near the woods and the hill, closest to the shady space of the field for the most privacy.
Since then, we have been friends, sometimes lovers, often thought bedfellows for life.
There were times when I had to let you go poison and pleasure someone else’s bed.
Many years went by when I merely longed for you, craved your touch, your taste…smell.
When I had my kids I didn’t want you around, denied that I ever knew you, needed you.
But my desire for you never left completely, and when I would see you around, I knew.
I would always love you, always wish you were back in my life, so comforting and calm.
Though, you come and go, drifting into my days after I have begged you to come back
then begged you to leave, give me my healthy peace, my independence, oh my mistress.
I cannot be who I yearn to be, full breath me, flexing into the wind and the drawing in air
not with you in my mind, my heart, my veins, my throat, my mouth, your scent reeking,
making my clothes, my fingers and my breath smell like you always wafting in before me.
You’re no good for me and I will never be free of longing for you, controlling you always.
Mistress C, I cannot commit to you, even with what you supply, stress release and repose,
and commit to the other side of me too, the one united with the rest of the respiring world.
For you are no good, kill me with your alluring touch of my fingers, mouth, face, and hair,
my mistress addiction who constricts me like a boa, my lungs, blood flow running freely.
Disease me not, be gone and beguile some other unsuspecting foolish follower of the flame!
11 Replies to “Oh, My Mistress C”
I know from personal experience the flame will never be extinguished until death.
A hard habit to kick smoke and fire. Mark Twain said quitting smoking was not hard. He had done it hundreds of times in his lifetime.
I am embarrassed. Given the nature of this blog I came to my initial reading of this with an eye towards a woman mistress. I, personally, saw one in my first reading. But after your comment above I went back and reread everything with new eyes. Funny, though I have read it with new eyes and an enlightened perspective my comment is still apropos.
It was meant to pun as well as please, stir a little mystery, play and yearning.
Very clever,…. I really enjoyed this. I can never say why some of us are seduced and others seem totally immune to the call.
Thank you. We all heed some siren’s call. Just grateful it’s not home wrecker H or Mistress Meth.
The word siren made me think of this beautiful song written by Billy Strayhorn at age 16 knowing the siren’s call at such an age and gay in a time that was taboo and kept secret.
(originally by Billy Strayhorn)
I used to visit all the very gay places
Those come what may places
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life
From jazz and cocktails
The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces
With distingué traces
That used to be there you could see where
They’d been washed away
By too many through the day
Then you came along with your siren’s song
To tempt me to madness
I thought for a while that your pointed smile
Was tinged with the sadness
Of a great love for me
Ah, yes, I was wrong
Again I was wrong
Life is lonely again
And only last year
Everything seemed so assured
Now life is awful again
And the thoughtful of heart
Could only be a bore
A week in Paris will ease the bite of it
All I care is to smile in spite of it
I’ll forget you I will
And yet you are still
Burning inside my brain
Romance is mush
Stifling those who strive
I’ll live a lush
Life in some small dive
And there I’ll be
While I rot with the rest
Of those whose lives are lonely too
And to hear it done so beautifully by Johnny Hartman….it is better on the John Coltrane album. But words like this….seems to fit.
Beautiful, bitterfully sweet and sad song about the hollow space that painful love lost leaves lifelong. Thanks so much, LMaz, for sharing and the youtube came up great!
It appears that will have to be directly accessed thru You Tube but well worth it.
Or this might work? If not left for MPM to share with you.