You
It's a given
that I'll be driven to drink
and the way it looks now
I'll be driven to smoke, too,
over this decision I've made
at such an unfortunate time
now, when I've lost 5 pounds
and I have a new green dress
that I know you would love
you could fix me a Melonball
and I would swoon
over all the things about you
that I love
all the things that come to mind, now
as I'm driven to drink, and possibly smoke
your face comes
impossibly
in every small thing I see
your hands, your hands
the sum of all that I love in you
my hard working,
sensitive,
well-defined
man.
My man.
Were you.
Was I.
Your woman.
It gushes out of me now,
in hot longing,
these ways I loved you,
and you loved me.
Every small thing brings me back to you.
Every small thing referring to you.
The boy in you.
The soft, hard feel of you.
I wonder now if every scent of summer
will only be a torture,
being the scent of you,
of summer,
of ripening possibility.
The cut grass and the peony,
the vaporous mirage off the tar,
gasoline and grease
and soap
and watermelon.
Chewing tobacco.
On your breath it was a drug.
The breeze across the lawn is a torment,
all I see is the ocean behind your head,
so many summers ago,
up higher than everyone,
hidden behind boulders,
doing it because we could.
The silence of this afternoon
is more than I want to bear,
as I'm driven to drink,
and to miss you,
and miss you,
and miss you.
that I'll be driven to drink
and the way it looks now
I'll be driven to smoke, too,
over this decision I've made
at such an unfortunate time
now, when I've lost 5 pounds
and I have a new green dress
that I know you would love
you could fix me a Melonball
and I would swoon
over all the things about you
that I love
all the things that come to mind, now
as I'm driven to drink, and possibly smoke
your face comes
impossibly
in every small thing I see
your hands, your hands
the sum of all that I love in you
my hard working,
sensitive,
well-defined
man.
My man.
Were you.
Was I.
Your woman.
It gushes out of me now,
in hot longing,
these ways I loved you,
and you loved me.
Every small thing brings me back to you.
Every small thing referring to you.
The boy in you.
The soft, hard feel of you.
I wonder now if every scent of summer
will only be a torture,
being the scent of you,
of summer,
of ripening possibility.
The cut grass and the peony,
the vaporous mirage off the tar,
gasoline and grease
and soap
and watermelon.
Chewing tobacco.
On your breath it was a drug.
The breeze across the lawn is a torment,
all I see is the ocean behind your head,
so many summers ago,
up higher than everyone,
hidden behind boulders,
doing it because we could.
The silence of this afternoon
is more than I want to bear,
as I'm driven to drink,
and to miss you,
and miss you,
and miss you.
posted by Black Egg at 5:31 PM
4 Comments:
sweet... filled with lust and sorrow. i like it! nice post. how was your weekend?
Weekend was... mostly sad. Necessarily sad. Doing better now. But having a hard time posting. Maybe later. Thx for checking in...
dang... sorry to hear. necessarily sad is something i can relate to, whatever it is i hope its healable.
I suppose all things can be healed, in their way. I wrote this post for someone I will never in my life stop loving. Sometimes that's not always enough to make things work.
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