From Kim Darnell, this image (one of many you can find with this bit of wordplay in it):
Full of resonance for me, given a sexy poem I once wrote for my man Jacques.
Here’s the poem, written way back in 1990, just before Jacques’s decline began:
My significant otter
1. Summer Creatures My significant otter Abandons me for Cold waters in Maine each summer. On Land he beavers, nails Shingles, does crosswords. At Night he sleeps solo and lives like a Monk; I am Wild with desire for the Scent of his body; I am Monkey-man, hot with the smell of My own. I write Letters of love that veer oddly in Topic, intending to pierce him with Darts of affection, Animal lust. He is Touched but not moved, he is Playful but busy. We Wait for the autumn to Make us a pair. 2. Glad to be Back My significant otter returns to Ohio, exhausted from travel and Hungry for me. I have Been with Hundreds of lovers this summer. One is an Eagle who penetrates me; I Call him at night and he flies Right to my bedside. Some of them Come for brief couplings, give a kiss, and are Gone. All of them stay with me while I am Solo. All of them Clamor to stay on for the year. The real man beside me is newly a Virgin - How does this happen? More Magic, I guess. After Months with his Genitals off on vacation, he's needy and Fragile, but no innocent. (We are Rather mismatched, and have high Expectations.) We tumble to bed and Enjoy modest pleasures, though none would be Fit for the general press. Tomorrow we'll Work on more racy Conjunctions; tonight my Sweet otter and I will just rest.
(This is always an emotionally difficult time of the year for me. Ann Daingerfield Zwicky’s death day comes in five days, and then Jacques’s birthday five days after that.)
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