Ripe & Uncloaked

I gave you the key-

the pages warm from touch,

creased where I lingered too long.

I told you where my nakedness waits,

where I loosen,

silk by silk,

until there is only skin

remembering it was made

to be felt.

No longer a wallflower,

I step into the sun,

let it kiss me open,

learn the curves of my becoming.

Ripe on the vine,

heavy, sweet,

taut with promise.

Chosen.

Tasted with eyes,

with breath held too long.

Like grapes for the finest wine,

flavor deep,

texture lingering,

staining slow.

This is my stripping.

My offering.

Uncloaked-

for the one who knows

how to linger.

Reviews

[Vol]

Curly,
Mental foreplay is the gateway, and poets do it best. The ability to capture experience, share that touch, that taste, that experience by means of little squiggly lines on paper, read soft as a caress on the air is a delicious miracle, indeed. In fact, at my core, I think our long ago ancestors invented language for just this purpose, and all else is a useful bonus. Poets in general tend to sensuality, I think, and it works.
Somehow I am reminded of the time I invited my students, high school senior creative writers, to a reading in Nashville. No one told me it was erotica night... On previous times, I'd have four or five drive the 40 miles for a little extra credit... but oh, no! Not this time! No, this time twenty-six showed up... with parents! Oh, those little old ladies got up and shared their sweet, moist adventures in rose petal voices to make some of the dads wipe their brows and the moms to moan a little... Meanwhile, I was sweating bullets, aware I may never see these kids again, my career on the ground, stained and in tatters. Monday morning I ran to the principal's office, and, on my knees, Sharon, I SWEAR I did not know!!!
"Know what?"
So I told her... and we laughed... and nothing happened!
Well, except, from then, till the end of the year, the poetry readings were more crowded than before, and everybody wanted to write more poetry.
Vol

[Curly Grace]

Vol, you always manage to turn a memory into a full scene funny, a little chaotic, and still somehow about the power of language. I love how you frame poetry as something instinctive and ancient, a kind of shared spark. And that Nashville story… only you could survive that and come out with more students wanting to write. then walk into the principal’s office like a man preparing for execution, only to find out she didn’t even blink. Honestly, I think your chaos is contagious. Even your disasters turn into recruitment events.

[Vol]

Curly,
I have a serious issue (not the "moist" kind) I lay it at the feet of my constantly improving ADHD. which is getting healthier as I age. Funny, huh? How it's getting better all the time, but at my expense; at this rate, it's going to take me over completely. No harm comes from it, though, and, in some ways, it is quite enjoyable. See, I think I fall in love every time a woman of intelligence says something intelligent about something intelligent and intellectual, and wise, and I want to run away with them for a while to share brainwaves and other neural activities, To laugh at the jokes nobody else gets. Anyway, thank you for this lovely review review.
I'm off for now.
Vol

[Curly Grace]

Little old ladies rose one by one,
voices soft as pressed petals,
taking their time.read moreLittle old ladies rose one by one,
voices soft as pressed petals,
taking their time.

They spoke of summers that lingered,
of glances held a second too long,
of memories that never quite learned
how to behave with age.

A few fathers shifted, clearing throats,
suddenly very interested in the ceiling.
A few mothers closed their eyes,
as if listening more carefully.

No one laughed.
No one interrupted.

It wasn’t confession.
It was inheritance.

;) wink -Curly

[Vol]

Curly,
What I am about to say is serious, but I'm rescuing these words from misuse. I respect your mind. Actually, I think it is quite beautiful. I say a lot about how important "voice" is in writing. Then, as an aside, my mom once told me from the time I could barely talk,I always judged people by their voices. This is different. Your voice is powerful in its elegant simplicity... you just say what you mean, and I'd bet those words tickle even while they are forming and laugh on their way out. I don't know, maybe they just twinkle in your eye. You might need to excuse me, I just love the way you talk! And I'm a couple of tokes in and feeling quite mellow.
Vol

[Curly Grace]

Vol… thank you for this. I’m glad my voice lands that way for you. I’ve always believed simplicity has its own kind of elegance, and if that’s what you’re hearing, then I’m grateful. Your note made me smile :) Mellow nights do seem to loosen the tongue a bit.

[Coyote Poetry]

The poem is filled with passion and sweet emotions.
"Ripe on the vine,
heavy, sweet,
taut with promise.
Chosen.
Tasted with eyes,
with breath held too long."
The above lines. So good. Thank you, Curly Grace for sharing the amazing poetry for desire.
Coyote

[Curly Grace]

Thank you, Coyote. I’m glad those lines spoke to you...desire has its own quiet language, and I’m grateful you felt it.

[Brad Dehler]

"For the one who knows how to linger" that lucky one for you! Wow. Nice poem, it unfolds and unwraps very intimately. Good to catch the vibe...

[Curly Grace]

Thank you. That means a lot. I’m glad the intimacy came through for you, and that you caught the slow‑unfolding vibe I was reaching for.

[Pete]

an erotic flavor without being overly bold. nicely and teasingly told.

[Curly Grace]

I’m glad the softness came through. I was aiming for something suggestive without saying too much, so it means a lot that you felt that balance.

[Kenneth The Poet]

Stellar write. I feel the heat.

[Curly Grace]

Thank you, Kenneth. That’s lovely to hear. I’m glad the warmth of it reached you.

[Thomas W Case]

This feels fearless—sensual without begging, confident without apology.
A slow, deliberate undressing of power, not flesh, and it lingers just right.

[Curly Grace]

Thomas, thank you. That’s such a generous read. I’m glad the quiet power of it landed for you, and that the lingering felt right rather than loud.