You know the story of Semele, right? Zeus seduced her and impregnated her; then she asked to see him in his glory as King of the Gods and she was incinerated when he appeared as a lightning bolt. The story says that Hera put her up to it, out of jealousy. Meanwhile it was one more story to prove that Fucking With Gods can be dangerous. Don't try this at home.
Then one night during her last visit, Marie said it happened to her.
OK, not exactly. Not literally. But somewhere in the middle of a marathon orgasm she had an … experience … that was just, … well, … different.
Later we talked about it. She said it was hard to describe; maybe it involved saying the unsayable. I joked back that this is what poetry is for. She explicitly made the connection with Semele, and wondered aloud if all the stories of bad things happening to Zeus's mistresses might not have been simply pictures to describe otherwise unsayable sexual experiences. We talked some more, but only around the edges of things.
Yesterday, a week after she flew home, I went for a walk and fiddled with the idea a little bit and then sent her this. My excuse for intruding on her story was that, well, whatever she was going to write was probably not in dactylic hexameter. So our versions would be different.
Lying abed with the Sky-father, clutching his greatness inside herself,
Some women live through a death like this.
A few hours later, she replied with her version. And sure enough, it wasn't in dactylic hexameter.
I don't think I have anything more to say, other than to let the poems speak for themselves. Anything more from my side would just spoil it.
But wow. It was different.
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