Oh, My Mistress C

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!

credit: wallpapers-3d.ru

11 Replies to “Oh, My Mistress C”

      1. 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.

  1. Very clever,…. I really enjoyed this. I can never say why some of us are seduced and others seem totally immune to the call.

  2. 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.
    “Lush Life”
    (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
    Twelve o’clocktails

    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.

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