THIS THING
this thing, suffering,
never
thought about it really
when we were
together
before the fracture,
time of complete loss
yes that short time
of beauty
I do not remember
much about it now
why, how
it could not be sustained
thinking about the drive home
immediately after our
marriage
no reason to think
of suffering
suffering there lying
in wait somewhere
outside us
or, already primed, set
to destroy,
lodged within
CLASSIC
want to see
the water
cascading
down you
in my
scruffy little
shower find
you
gone full
Botticelli
Venus
newly born
and our love,
which you proclaim Platonic
shadow-shown
on the wall of
my mouldy bathroom
though would rather that it
were enacted
comically, tragically
in the cosy comfort
of our cave
HOW
how can I possibly
still love you
still
want you
still imagine you
with me
right now
now
now
now!
so close, both of
us, the two of us,
would agree we feel embedded
wrapped up in each
other’s arms:
the ultimate package
but
this
is
not real, is pure
supposition, ghost conjecture
me here
alone in these words, with
this poem
you,
as ever,
so far away
HERE
if you were here
I would
devote myself to
your pleasure,
shamelessly, spectacularly
so
bring you into my sphere
softly, slowly
inch by inch
measure
by measure
until you cannot, would
not ever desire
to leave
come down to Earth from
where we
soared together
ON MY PART
was going to send you
an audio
making love to you
with voice
reaching those spots
other voices fail to reach
but
I held back, pressed
record
but no speech
on my part
nothing came out
think it must
be the terrible fear
that something
spoken
sensuously
will
bounce back
and before I know it
there I am once more
falling for
you again
desperate that all the pleasure
I talk, is pleasure
that in my
heart I still
hope of talking you into
lying back on my bed night
after night alone
longing, dreaming
one day
we will touch
poems 2 die for