• Biography
  • Exhibitions
  • Poetry
  • Celia Meade

  • Poetry
  • 19 August 2020

Oedipus

I took you as my bride,

my queen, my prize.

I came to your room

to breathe in 

your hair’s orange scent

and to touch the fine lines

around your round eyes

and all the blood rushed.

You opened your arms

opened your mouth

saw me

a full-grown man

not like those back home

who viewed me solely 

as a crippled child.

I wanted to be

surrounded by you

to be 

inside you, hear you cry out

your jagged breathing

when I sucked your breast

I wanted you

the only woman

I could ever, truly love

Tags
  • love
  • lovemaking
  • marriage
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