Desire

The concept of desire is a tricky subject to understand. What is your perception?  What is a man's perception on the topic of "desire"? You do not usually think of it as a romantic feeling. In the modern world, I find that desire has been reduced to only holding meaning as a feeling associated with a sexual urge or need. What would you like, what do you desire? Is it like yearning? A twitch in your loins?
A straddle, a kiss, a massage, a smoky "number 10" (female) in the backseat of your car in a parking lot late at night (or really early in the morning)? A leather clad woman with no boundaries, no inhibitions and two quick hands and an open, expectant mouth. They say the tongue is the strongest muscle in the human body. We all desire to be touched and "taken care of" sexually, to experience affection; a physical connection. A trickle down your spine, a powerful gush of emotion provided by another human being; present and dedicated to satisfy you. The attention makes your ego, no, your confidence expand with the most radical elevation of dopa-mine coursing through your body to alleviate your slight insecurity, if only for a night. Oh, but if it were every night...

With Regards To Ignorance

If value was determined by ignorance
then we would all be more meaningful minds
than we ever thought our minds to be
But really, there is value where there is ignorance;
A mind without preconceived notions or any knowledge or understanding
on any specific subject
Is mouldable; maleable for teaching
Fresh learning is more eagerly welcomed...
So, there is value in that, or rather something
a stage before developing full value...
It is potential!
A person may be ignorant, but this should be intriguing to others,
It calls for a strange understood respect--
An opportunity for them, too, to test their knowledge
By spreading it like a pleasent weed.
It is also refreshing to come across
Someone who knows less about a subject that seems ordinary to you.
It is even more impressive, I believe, if a person is very aware of their ignorance;
it expresses a mature level of understanding

But then again, I may not truly know much at all about this whole subject...

--Natalie Klett

To Be Queen of Your Thoughts

I’m sorry for the pedestals I placed you all on,

with the utmost unrealistic hope

But I just couldn’t help admiring you, and I made you look like a trophy;

Now, who else would have thought of raising you up

As triumphantly as I did?

Lately your trophy has gone askew

And the statue doesn’t even look like you

It resembles the crumbled face of someone

Whom lost himself to a battle.

So I placed you on the shelf, and you still held importance

I forced your mangled figure onto that shelf

Because you still lingered in my mind.

 I covered you up with books about how I really didn’t care

Books I wrote, forced into a state of emotionlessness—now that’s something we share.

Then one day the light hit my forgotten golden trophy,

So I knocked down the books, I noticed you—the pedestal was gone.

I sighed with relief but it still wasn’t over

I took you outside and I buried you in the deepest hole in the Earth.

The next year came, and I didn’t feel the same, 

My hope was finally set free.

Still, I longed to avenge you, if only to be Queen of your thoughts.

Then I turned to my window and on the ledge I saw

A boy was staring at me.

I felt something rise up from beneath my feet;

My hands and body coated in gold.

It was then I realized what was happening:

The statue on the pedestal…

is now me.

--Natalie Klett

Porcelain

He held her like Porcelain
A placeholder between their fantasy and reality.
He kissed her gently; their lips parting in synchronicity
Soft as petals, of a white rose but
with a passionate urgency that grows.
We're taking our time and neither of us mind
The nights are stretched late; we burn the midnight oil
There still never seems to be enough hours in a day
Hours that could be spent getting to know you,
Allowing you to know me.
Maybe there isn't much to know,
Maybe the drawers of my personality are shallow & plain.
Maybe my need to twist and distort my body to my liking,
in the face of a mirror, is vain.
My face, retouched or un-fussed, is yours to see
To be naked is to allow you to see my thoughts completely,
Pure--this is our most intimate exchange.
Doubt is cast away, conquered by your sentimental recollections;
they reveal your genuine severity to maintain
This tightly woven connection we now sustain.

--Natalie Klett