Write a poem about the predators who turn a natural desire for love, contact and eventually sex into some kind of slavery, dependence, addiction, submission, etc.
I wrote mine as an answer to your poem, the one I highlighted. I found it intense and fiery and at the same time it echoed in me for reasons I have described and amplified in poetical and fictional form in the various recent books of poetry I quoted in my answer with the cover pictures of them.
In my old age — and I haven’t changed a lot on that — I meet some situations, some people, some artifacts, poetry or not, that speak directly to my empathy and I love it, them and I feel I have to say something and I say it. I am free there and then, whereas all my life I have been haunted by things and acts that were imposed on me, I was forced to do and accept. I learned how to “enjoy” those imposed acts and things and I escaped from them in some blindness: let them do what they want and let me do what they want, and let me keep the pleasure and escape into dreaming I am with . . . and I never could decide if it was god, the devil, or just a transcending ghost loving me and I could love.
Life is so queer. People do not understand easily that enslaved people who submit to everything (like starlets cooing for and accepting sex with a producer to get a part and exposing the producer as a predator forty years later when their career has been filled with films that will enable them to live long and comfortable as Brigite Bardot and Catherine Deneuve said) find pleasure in these acts that should be only humiliating. It is this pleasure that saves them from the PTSD and insanity brought by rape to anyone who refuses this rape.
Sorry for this rant. It is Sunday morning and I am thinking of so many holy things I have done, I have dreamed to do, I have always wanted to do while I was doing or submitting to the worst evil things and only considering the enjoyable part of it. Sunday is my day of oxymoronic love that makes me cry with frustration, alienation and humiliation while my body and at times my soul or mind experience the most intense pleasure.
That’s what your poems, and particularly the one I highlighted brought to my mind and I had to elaborate and tell you “your crime”: you had made me fall and dive, swim and drown, fly and crash into the ocean of love that my always desiring mind is. And for that I am thankful, grateful and even fully in love with this Terijo who made me experience that “pleasure/pain,” and that Terijo is you. I hope you can accept that poetic and probably slightly psychotic truth of mine. And an answer is only optional. I am satisfied with just having said it.
Have a good day and thanks again.