you would love me,
you say,
if you weren’t
already taken.
by a future of
mediocrity
just stable enough
to ride out “safely”
until you die.
isn’t it against
your gambling code,
balking at
high stakes
and settling for life in the
safe lane?
you might be surprised
at how quickly
dead things
come back to life
when you
feed them
just a
bit
more
water.
remember those days?
(so many millions of miles away now… )
of slow dancing to patsy cline
in small-town dive bars
of singing
juana
across the moonlit lake
at midnight,
rain pouring down,
baptizing us
in the sacredness
of our
shared soul-cloth
of drinking cheap liquor
caressing
that was all we knew.
…
how beautiful it was,
my love,
painting melancholy
with you.
i feel you.
there are
ways
in which
your
mere
existence
is wildly
distracting
to
me.
my bare shoulders…
pixie stick cigarette
right about now.
in circles..
and Truth?
the way
as i lay,
i have wondered sometimes
if this heat
with you
this meltingyearningaching
this rush of
emotion and sensation that
entirely
overpowers me
that hovers over me
in
breathtaking
silence
that forges
my
body
my awareness
in a slowwwsinking
intoyou
so shockingly perfect
i am in awe
of you
and us..
i have wondered
if this colliding of
beings
that we have been
oh god we have been
…
could withstand
the fire and brimstone
of our own imperfections
of life.
your love
demands
my existence.
perhaps some days..
you forget
the weariness
the constant vigilance
of remembering
to exist.
you and me baby
we speak so many thoughts
we have none left for poetry
is it true that good art
requires a lonely,
aching soul?
and after a life of melancholy
and understated drama..
can i give up that beautiful art,
that bittersweet sadness,
…even for you?