Decadent (I am)

A poetry reading for you today.

Chicago Sensual | Kymberlee della Luce | September 2024

Hi, friend! It’s cold here in Chicago. Let’s warm it up a bit.

Here’s a poem I wrote a few years back that is still as relevant today as it was then.

It explores the vast difference between decadent as a noun and an adjective.

Please enjoy.

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To Whom It May Concern:

It has come to my attention
that projections have been cast
upon me--
across my breasts,
tracing down the abundant landscape 
to and through my sex.
(whispers)

Let us take a moment
(a discerning moment)
to address a misconception:
Your pursed heart
would tell you that I am
wrong
self-indulgent
and sinful
for my love of pleasure.

Nay!  My naked flesh
stretched out
on hot sand, 
opening to the sensuous stroking
of the sun’s rays across my--
everything--
this is not decadent. (adjective)

I am decadent (noun)
(I am)

What of greed?

I have a faded poppy in my hand.
Are they for forgetting
or remembrance?
(I can’t recall.)
Corporations have stolen our icons,
drained them of all meaning.
This is decadent. (adjective)

Pleasure has become a throbbing pain.
The only healing comes in the release--
the indulgence.

Indulge me.
Pleasure me.

I am decadent (noun).
(I am)

Come!  Wet your whistle.
Crack open something
real and raw.
Let it pour into you.
Indulge yourself.

Yours,

Decadent (noun)
(I am)

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Here’s the audio version: