My friend Diana Raab’s latest poetry collection, Lust, is a veritable cornucopia of luscious, lusty, “whoa baby!” poems that give erotica a good name. Tantalizing and sexy, this collection oozes with sensuality, love, desire, fear and regret – all the emotions that come with loving someone, figuratively and literally.
Raab has never wavered from sharing herself in her poetry and her nonfiction, but this book goes deeper, expressing in words what many of us only feel physically.
Warning: Do not leave Lust around for the cleaning folks – or your children – to find. Keep it tucked in a sacred spot in the boudoir, where you can share it with an appreciative lover.
Here's one of my favorites from the collection:
The First Time
The moment after we met
and seconds after your smile,
beside me on the old cross-country jet,
I knew that inside a dream, our bodies
would one day twist around each other.
And I would lose track of where
yours began and mine ended
and so many other things in my life,
such as my beliefs
or even what happened between us.
I would not recount anything,
not a feeling, a touch or a visual
or the voice you used
to toss me on the bed
and remove my over-the-knee boots
worn during our loving act --
All I will remember is a deep sense
of euphoria transcending every part
of my essence, every hair follicle,
missing breast and scar which makes
me what I am and the idea
and how I will never
walk down the same path again.