Clean Heat
grooveamatic
Posts: 1,374
Six years later and still I think of you,
You with so many faults and me with so few;
The two of us together for maybe eight months,
A wobbly pair.
I may never stop thinking of you,
And what a fact to behold!
And what memories I am forced to live with:
Your pouty circular lips,
Breasts perfectly shaped but too pale and veiny,
Thighs tight to my ears so I couldn’t even hear the television.
I’m not even sure you moaned!
And that is the nature of what I selectively recall,
Not the love,
No sentiment,
Heartbreak forgotten and vanished.
Only how you smelled in the clean heat of the afternoon,
Moving so well with my moving,
Fumbling with my fumbling parts,
Turning away Death by proclaiming ourselves Bodies.
I never fucked you, dear,
But I fucked my own terrible oblivion
Right into forgetfulness,
And it is that which I shall never forget.
You with so many faults and me with so few;
The two of us together for maybe eight months,
A wobbly pair.
I may never stop thinking of you,
And what a fact to behold!
And what memories I am forced to live with:
Your pouty circular lips,
Breasts perfectly shaped but too pale and veiny,
Thighs tight to my ears so I couldn’t even hear the television.
I’m not even sure you moaned!
And that is the nature of what I selectively recall,
Not the love,
No sentiment,
Heartbreak forgotten and vanished.
Only how you smelled in the clean heat of the afternoon,
Moving so well with my moving,
Fumbling with my fumbling parts,
Turning away Death by proclaiming ourselves Bodies.
I never fucked you, dear,
But I fucked my own terrible oblivion
Right into forgetfulness,
And it is that which I shall never forget.
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Comments
"fumbling with my fumbling parts.."
i remember the one i forgot to forget about..
excellent, just exellent!!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
this is so much like a part of robert hass's "the privelege of being" that it almost is that part of robert hass's privelege of being. that's just, i don't know.
wow. amazing poem.
keep up the good work groove. you are so talented!
(have you ever read that poem? -- it's not the wording either, just something about the mood or tone or theme or something. it creates the same feeling i guess)
Reminds me of sex with every boyfriend I ever had.
A compliment to you.
"YOU PUT YOUR WEED IN THERE";)
Call me!!!!!(I mean it)!!!!:)
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
This is high praise, olderman. I am flattered, yet humbled. Thank ye!!!!
Never heard of Hass. Although I've been looking for someone new to read. Can you usually find him at bookstores?
Thanks for the kind words Pearlmutt--you are always so kind to me!
Thanks again dear...I like that you like it.
I'll call you within the next few days--although you never told me how late was too late. 'Twould be nice to know.
if i'd always be your boy
as we drove across the river
into western Illinois.
And on the railroad bridge,
half a mile of solid steel,
wheels were spitting out sparks,
scraping at the rails.
Wind in your hair.
Sunset spilling through the rear window.
Your white t-shirt hugging your shoulders,
beaded with sweat.
On the day that i become so forgetful
that all of this melts away,
I will burn all the calanders that counted the years down
to such a worthless day.
As we walked across the parking lot
toward the motel office.
We were walking with a benediction on us.
Light was everywhere, the building stood against the sky
like a monument to desperation two floors high.
A mile and a half from the river,
we went back to the car to get our overnight bags.
Sunset spilling through your earrings, all over your body.
When we shut the motel door behind us,
we knew we'd hit the motherlode.
On the day that i forget you,
I hope my heart explodes
I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Although I like mine better.