One of correspondence
I couldn't want to get out of bed the morning.
I was covered in flowers, dreaming flowers, or I was a flower dreaming
the warmth of petal as blanket, I was a flower petal in an ordinary grey blanket.
I was without you, in full possession of my flesh folded in and with you of me.
I discovered one thing last night after you left, listening to KID A is great.
It still is today.
In Bed last night I wrote:
well I was in bed!
I lightened my heart a bit
At least something did
gripping "mastered by love forgetting"
Which I said to you (at least typed)
And said to her, no,
said to you first and then to her, wrote about
So it went easy, awakened and flighty heart
You were so Beautiful, arrived
Not so heavy(me, us)
Like was remembering and being stuck to engorged red flesh and saliva
Then cooked steaks
One agreed upon ideal
Ms. Aurora Mielle really likes that, but not about her
Later she asked me if I would read to her from my poems
"most of them are for adults, X-rated"
"what does that men?"
"R-rated, for adults"
The couple I found she said were cute, giggled
You!!!
what to say to you.
I want your brown pants
I like brown pants (it dawned on me in the middle of the night later that they probably wont fit me - Skinny)
Oh yes, when you were offering these kisses out in between the cooler blue charcoal night(which there surely is a word for that I am going to find and put at the bottom)
"The other side"
and I said "the middle"
You smashed it to me
what I might have meant was slowly
Inside
Clamped
Then if we are lackey’s and meant
Ambrosia, something for you to eat
so choosing two parts of you to stay; your eyes and hair - Physical
Non-physical; Your eyes and voice(eyes are funny like that)
And touch; The inside of your mouth and mine.
CERULEAN (which doesn't really mean that color but is prettiest)
End of last night, back today
Anywho, now today choosing which to stay, all of you, your skin
would be nice if you could sneak away from work and come to bed with me in the day,
nice if we could go to bed and lay in the pre-spring sun
like nice if this was written with pen and delivered by telegraph
from a boy with nice calfs. And if you could still be earning your 17
and me my 16.5,
but wouldn't that be whoring?
not like in Mesopotamia before the storms, when you could have been learning boy how to be man
and answering who god is with tremulous thighs.
Alas
4 comments:
make a blog. it's fun and easy. a place to place your poems. smiley face.
yeah. you don't have to get a blog, you can make it. somehow you spin it out of the ether. and you know. i think you could make a blog anywhere. you could have it in your backyard. you could have it in someone else's backyard. i think they travel well and are house trained. also, these words of yours are all sticky and glorious.
poet.
yes get a blog. in your toe jam :)
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