(A second poem by Margaret Atwood. This is inappropriate, maybe, for a blog that's my blog. But her words make my blood crash and I hope they do the same to you)

Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise

sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities

you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,

nobody has that
power, you are merely a fellow/traveller

Give up this medical concern
buttoned, attentive,
permit yourself anger, and permit me mine

which needs neither
your approval nor your surprise

which does not need to be made legal
which is not against a disease

but against you,
which does not need to be understood

or washed or cauterized,
which needs instead

to be said and said.
Permit me the present tense.


  1. I loved this one.

    Its your blog but then the writings that enable you to express yourself can also be posted.


    Joy always,

  2. Thanks, Druzie.
    And I agree with you.


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