Tristesse, v 1.1

[Miley]

Am I off mark, or is this poem all about masturbation  (go limp, white, to discharge, etc)?  Maybe sex, but there's no mention of a partner, and well masturbation lends itself more to sad and melancholy. Something about the differences between the natural and societal? How in and of itself these things are totally I guess innocent in a way, or the question of innocence or any other question isn't on the table at all when the lights are off, if I understand your metaphor. It's the sort of poem that feels like it comes largely from a conceptualization as opposed to an experienced moment, and In that way it may run the risk of being vague. I thought it was well done, not a lot of superfluous words, and a certain rhythm to the enjambment. I guess I'm longing for more specifics. I trust the narrator as an authority, but than at the end I think, but hey isnt this really about you. I prefer the second stanza to the first.

Tristesse  /trēˈstes/ N. a state of melancholy sadness.


The reaction is purely physiological  The question is... What reaction?? The reaction is purely physiological in nature, in society maybe its something else? A bit of a contrast already with the title which seems less physiological.
in nature. You may find yourself
tremble then go limp
warm and red: think
nothing of it if
you can think at all. Thinking
comes from experience -- eventually
you won't be able to help
but think -- which is why we advise
you try to think nothing
of it. Some people make 
small talk marking
the weather or 
the traffic. 
Some people smoke. Its funny, the whole stanza really. Especially the part about advising you to try to think nothing of it, and the last two lines. Its a little clever and witty there, and in the end a little dark, or as the title suggest, melancholy. The tone reminded me of the few Yorgos Lanthimos film I've seen... idk if you know his work. IF anything, I think I felt like I was lacking a little footing, I read it a few times and it made me feel dumb.  

Stare at the ceiling perhaps, contemplate
its spareness, white
graded by shadow. Absorb the light
diffusing through the curtain. Your body
is the room, your heart the bed,
your eyes and skin the curtain and the window: is it not The first half of this stanza here is my favorite bit of the poem, It reads like a Buddhist exorcise or something, is it? I like the heart bed and eye/skin curtain/window... though when I thought too hard about it, idk if the eye/skin, curtain/window metaphor holds up as eyes feel more glass-like than skin which feels more curtain like, but thatd put the eye lids on the inside of the eyes. Too literal a read, maybe. These lines are tender, and allow me to conceptualize the body in a way I haven't before, a room to occupy things. 
a part of nature to spark, to sizzle,
to heat up red
then white, to discharge
particulate matter
when ignited? 
Only when you switch
on a light, when you drag yourself from the sheets
and open the door to the hall, does it become
something else.

The reaction is purely physiological
in nature. You may find yourself
tremble then go limp
warm and red: think
nothing of it if
you can think at all. Thinking
comes from experience -- eventually
you won't be able to help
but think -- which is why we advise
you try to think nothing
of it. Some people make
small talk marking
the weather or
the traffic.
Some people smoke.

Stare at the ceiling perhaps, contemplate
its spareness, white
graded by shadow. Absorb the light
diffusing through the curtain. Your body
is the room, your heart the bed,
your eyes and skin the curtain and the window: is it not
a part of nature to spark, to sizzle,
to grow hot, to glow red
then white, to discharge
particulate matter
when ignited?
Only when you switch
on a light, when you drag yourself from the sheets
and open the door to the hall, does it become
something else.