Thursday, May 07, 2009

In the Great Outdoors with Erobintica

It’s a lovely day here in the Bay Area, and it’s definitely putting me in the mood for a little fresh air. The outdoors provide so much to soothe the ears: bird song, rustling leaves, the sound of a babbling brook, the muffled duet of grunts and moans coming from the tent over there in the clearing….

But I digress. What I wanted to tell you is that I’ve really had so much fun exploring the sounds of sex here on my blog—with both my virgin ear and my fallen one—and want to thank everyone for sharing their auditeur-y excerpts that capture so well the yearning pleasure of the listener. Still, all along I’ve been also wondering about those crucial partners-in-passion on the other side of the wall. We are well aware of their presence, but how does ours affect them? Indeed, we’ve not yet heard the story from the point of view of the musicians themselves.

Until today.

On this sunny May morning, I have the great pleasure to present a poem by Erobintica, who’s already brought her lovely lyric voice to this blog in "Window Seat." “As Campers Speak With Hushed Voices” is a virgin piece but will soon appear in a chapbook. I’m very honored to present it here for the first time!

So take a seat under the canopy to the right, cock your ear toward that blue tent on the left, and listen closely to Erobintica:

As Campers Speak With Hushed Voices - a poem for my husband

Feet and flashlights pass
inches away from our tent walls
as I taste the salt trace of exertion
on the warm skin of your chest,
brush tongue against nipple,
kiss pulsing neck.
The year’s first wave of heat
has cooled with sunset.
Slight breezes dried the humid dampness
from our skin. Now we create more.
Whispering, we move quietly.
The only sounds –
rustle of sleeping bag,
creak of air mattress
under shifting bodies.
Listening to each other’s breath,
touches get bolder, more
insistent, until we give in
to the pull and join.
At home we take
our time. Here,
we are urgent.
Soon we clasp,
stop breathing,
as fingers
by muscles relaxing,
the uncoupling, sliding into sleep.


Erobintica said...

Thanks Donna! I'm sending a link to this to Mr. E so he has a nice break from all his other boring emails.

Donna said...

Oh, you are so welcome, Robin. Your poem is really a thoroughly satisfying way to end this gathering!

Okay, I can take of my hostess hat now and be the very appreciative audience. Two things--the visual effect of your poem is so sensual. I just like to stare at the shape of it without seeing the words. It's like a sinuous naked body or something ;-).

Also, I find the reversal of the listening role so very interesting--wondering if you'll be heard and the intensity this brings to the experience. Or maybe it's just that I have a pretty nice memory from a camping trip myself?

Anonymous said...

A nice break, indeed. Very nice, Robin!

Donna said...

Those are my favorite lines, too, Kirsten!

This is definitely a poem for you then ;-).

Erobintica said...

Haha - that was a line I tweaked just before sending it to you Donna!

Oh, and Mr. E enjoyed reading it here. ;-)

Donna said...

Oh, I'm glad he enjoyed it. Nice to have the illustration, too, especially for him!

Craig Sorensen said...

Camping and sex...what a combination. And you caught such an essence of sensuality in this poem.

Truly, beautifully done, Robin.

Thanks for yet another wonderful example of auditeur sexiness, Donna.

EllaRegina said...

Gee, sleep-away camp was never like this!

Lovely poem, Robin.

neve black said...

I've been working on writing a story, so I'm sorry to be tardy to the sexy camping party.

This was so sensual and heart-felt. The passion was fueled by this couples tenderness - I also felt that they know each other so well. We cannot presume this story is autobiographical, right? :-)

Oh, and jeez, I have to agree with EllaR comments, b/c my camping days weren't anything like this. I feel like I've missed out on some good camping sex. Damn!

Thank you for sharing, Robin. It's just beautiful. Thank you, Donna.

Erobintica said...

Haha, this poem is so totally the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the fucking truth! :-) See that picture there? The blue tent on the left was ours.