A
PRESCRIPTION FROM DOCTOR DE SADE
Lust’s passion will be served; it demands,
it militates, it tyrannizes.
Marquis
de Sade
Here, take
fifty
of these
and if you manage to wake up
don’t call
me in the morning. Better still
I want you
perched atop a column
crushed by
sunlight in some stony waste of
Syria or
Sinai, a martyr to your failure of nerve.
Pain and pleasure
are but Siamese twins
who share a
couch and a plate of pommes frites. Nevertheless
next time an
opportunity comes knocking, invite it in, offer a brandy,
then sit
back and see what tingles first.
Maybe not a
moment of perfumed nights will follow, or the perfect spasm,
though plenty
of delicious remorse—think of your wife, her evenings
spent
knitting a hair shirt for your conscience— oh sweat-drenched
insomniac—or
your husband working overtime to buy you
that vacation
in Mazatlan you’ve always wanted—and no regrets to speak of.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.