a question of lust bunnies and Cyrano

A young man approached me the other day, after listening to my CD "The Last Romantic Verb" and had some questions. Not unusual in and of itself, as a writer I get questions about my works, it is expected. Besides, you learn more, I always say, from a good question than from a good answer.

His question was this..."Who was 'Lust Bunnies' (from the piece 'Erotic V') written about, and when?" It took me a moment of contemplation to give a clear answer on that, not because I didn't know it, but because I needed to express it clearly.

I explained that it was written within the last year or so to someone I know.

He pressed for a fuller answer, as if he were a reporter for the National Enquirer and already had half an idea who. I told him 'Just someone I know'. He asked if it was someone I was involved with. Nosy, hm? I told him 'Not really'.

People, particularly young people, have this idea that I must, as the 'Romantic Poet of the Internet' (thank you, again, Yahoo, for that sobriquet) be chin-deep in romantic dalliances 24/7. The truth is that the vast majority of my works over the last few years have been written from reflective emotion, rather than active moments. I have become something of an emotional recluse, one peer even referring to my 'armored heart'.

It is merely a defense mechanism, and one I am slowly, carefully, deactivating. I'll get there. One does not endure the kind of reverses and betrayals that I have been subject to and not have some burned flesh to heal. Usually, I am a quick healer, this time I have intentionally slowed the process. Not wishing a repeat of Venice Beach, I have politely declined the invitations I have received to dive back in, wiser for the wear.

So to answer his question, finally, and totally: "Lust Bunnies" is not about anyone I am involved with, just someone I know whom I have found intriguing, and feel that sense of longing, that gravitational attraction, towards. It is playful, but beneath the surface it has great gravitas, as it deals with unspoken affection, much as Cyrano held for his Roxanne. Don't understand this reference? Read a damn book sometime, loser.

And I am, after all, as one critic expressed, the "American Cyrano", speaking on more than one occasion through others, sheltering my own passions and affections from harm behind a larger-than-life mantle. It is not the most pleasant of afflictions, but it is who I am, and it is where I need to be.

And the "Lust Bunnies" remain beneath my bed.