“Red Door Painting” by: Ben Will Studio
let it flare fire red
red as the doors
of back alley Paris
that conceal the carnal
intertwined
on a star-burst night
in the velvet grip
of sweating conquest
ripe with release
coursing with hunger
for the tender flesh
of reckless youth
white hot
as a deflowered bride
burning with the lust
of an august first-night
impaled on the horn
of promise and desire
there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
for bittersweet
forbidden nectar
so when you hear
the whispers whispered
know that it was so
and so it will remain
in the lithe loins
of the skin slaves
aflame
behind the Paris red doors
”Harlot” by Andrew Atroshenko,
*
rob kistner © 2021
August Poems at: dVerse
Still more poetry at: dVerse
Poetry at: Poets & Storytellers
Whooosh!! This is absolutely stellar writing, Rob! Very fitting to the image of red door. I especially like the glimpse of “back alley Paris that conceal the carnal intertwined on a starburst night,”.. thank you so much for writing to the prompt 🙂
Thank you for your gracious compliment Sanaa. I have always found red doors to be mysteriously captivating — not sure why. Fun prompt!
“there will be no truth
in these minglings
only raw bleeding need
and the quenchless thirst
[of]… the skin slaves.”
I see a big connector between “skin slaves” and vampires.
Such a walk down that dirty back alley to the red door, Rob. I love this poem!
You know, the difference between the two has only to do with in which form they seek the warm blood, in or out of the warm body… …thank you Lisa, I am glad this resonated for you! 🙂
This is very beautiful!
Thank you Lucy! 🙂
Excellent.
(So, there was this night in Paris behind red door you say?)
Thank you Ron! That red door exists only in my mind… 🙂
Badda-bing, brother. You probed the lusty depths beyond the red door. I never knew, or imagined that a red door could sub for a red light. If it’s not true, it should be. You wrote me so naughty, it left me weak in the knees. “burning with a lust of an August first-night, impaled on the horn of promise and desire.” Thank you for writing to this prompt.
I agree Glenn — it should be… 🙂 Seeing that pic of the red door sparked something deep inside. Not sure if it was memory or fantasy…?
Let it be a memory????, just roll with it. An awesome write. Such passion! Love it.
Pat
Thsnk youPat… 😉
Your poem inspired me to write PORTE ROUGE, all about Pigalle. Thanks for being a Muse.
Write on brother!
H.O.T.
.
T.H.A.N.K.S.S.S.S.S.
I love your symbolic minimalist photo a the beginning of your post. Red doors in the red light district! A great poem Rob!
Thank you Dwight. Red doors always spoke of freedom to me!
Oh, I wish I were bold enough to convince my husband that we need a red door. This is another life I’d like to have. On an island somewhere.
Part of my life was thus, but age and failing health leaves me remembering now Ren — but the memories are beautiful, free, exciting… and forever mine. A red door would go well with your spirit I believe. Perhaps a vacation home with a red door attitude! 🙂
Sensuously beautiful in many ways Rob! Love the truthful nature of narration rendered!
Hank
Thank you so much Hank. It sometimes feels that statement is not enough — but I mean it! 🙂
Love the skin slaves and the music. Transported, Rob.
Thank you K…:)
You really opened the door to passion and unbridled lust here Rob – fantastic work!
Thank you Ingrid not just for your kind words for this particular piece that I wrote, but thank you for your kindness in general — supporting my work. I truly appreciate that. I always try to turn out something of quality something worth reading something that’s entertaining. I don’t always succeed but I try. But more importantly, you always encourage me, and that means a great deal to me — so thank you! We share a very pleasant relationship here at d’Verse. I think if we knew each other, out here in the real world, we would get along even better as friends — and friends are hard to come by! so thank you again Ingrid.
… and here I thought painting your front door red meant ‘come in for a chat, a cup of coffee, an innocent laugh or two.’ Not behind the Parisian doors you so artfully described. Great interpretation of Glenn’s photo.
A red door does mean That— with a little extra ‘sugar’ in your coffee… 😉
Oh, skin slave, I really love that… really says what it is.
In black & white (behind a red door)
Doors always hold a mystery, and you have revealed both sensuousness and ambivalence. The images are vivid and memorable.
Thank you Kerfe.
Reminds me of a fairly short period in my Army days when I moved back on post into a cadre room at one of the barracks.
There I found, and joined, a group who were taking turns at being escorts, two at a time, for a young, age 17, six-month reservist who had fallen in love with a prostitute at a Juarez back alley red doored brothel.
Each of our group would accompany him making sure he would make the trip there and back safely.
While they were “visiting” the two of us would have a drink or two at a table. The girls and ladies were sitting in chairs around the room but every now and then a couple would come sit on our laps and try to visit with us and maybe buy them a drink or more.
I moved back out of the barracks before the young reservist’s training was over. The couple were probably heart broken when he had to come home.
Your story also reminded me of my artist, Henri Lautrek, who was moved to Paris and painted the ladies pictures, nudes, inside a brothel on Moulin Rouge. He was ‘enamored by them for a period in his life. I have a link to describe that period of his life. I opted to write of his circus period instead.
BTW, I have a print of his cousin Louis Pascal’s picture painted by Henri.
..
Captivating story Jim. Love is like water, when it is present, it seeks its level and connection no matter the obstacles. That was a genuine kindness on the part of you guys.
Fascinating, vibrant paintings and a mighty effort to match them in vivid, passionate language.,
Thank you Rosemary… 🙂
Doors can lead to so many things–and we don’t always know what’s behind them. This is such a visceral poem, Rob, combining sensuality and a rawness of lust, and some brutality, too.
Passion and lust absent love and respect can beget brutality, both mental and physical — often to all parties in involved.
Gee, I always wondered what went on behind those back alley red doors in Paris! You write with such lustiness, Rob!
I appreciate that Bev. Gives me hope that I’m at least still partly alive. In my life I was a passionate, lusty guy — until failing health robbed the lust from my body. Now it has all gone to my head… 😉
Thank you, Rob, for taking us to the other side of that door.
You are welcome Ken!
I remember this one! Enjoyed my second reading of this masterpiece 🙂 Thank you so much for linking it, Rob!
How very gracious of you Sanaa! It is the “August Poem” of mine that I am most fond of writing. I felt a bit embarrassed later, after having posted a third link — but figured you could delete it if you felt it was overreach.