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Benjamin Woolley May 2016
to the shot girl
who danced
on the bar-
top
tonight

how ashamed
you made me feel
wanting
to *******

your hips grinding
my periphery.
hands reaching
but
clasped tight
my naked eye

you were beautiful
in my shame
Benjamin Woolley May 2016
Drunk on the couch
You
Peeked nimbly over,
Shining wet,
******* pressed, half-held,
To take something from me;

So wet
  you slip
from my
fingers.
Benjamin Woolley May 2016
I could always sleep for a few moments
more
when we would
lay in the grass
imagining our bright beautiful futures
all dreaming the same dream
not like they told us
now
the writers selling insurance
teachers flipping houses
all living in the same world we grew up in
we get drunk together
talk about how it
was
all wanting to be fooled again
Benjamin Woolley May 2016
watching her black
dress lying gently
-so that I can just make
out her ***-
if I stare

or pull it over-her
head gets stuck-
as she wiggles
every dance
done at Spring festival - by
harvest fire
that first awakened young boys
to her calling
them to manhood

door ajar
that first peek
held there in bright
film noir
holding
her like Humphrey
Bogart -
15 years later

a promise of Summer in
late August
drug her down
into the open earth
ran her down
hands feasting on suppleness

captured nymphs
sink ships
wrecked upon
loose lips-
wrapt-
lashed
to tortured mast

lower-lip bite
cigarette drag
skirt pull-twist
caress of the inner-thigh
those *******
"**** me" eyes
- cut my neck -
the blood drains
from my mind

she is God
i am devil
wrapt up
in cosmic struggle

snake skin oil
rub cool
coil
my hands
twist - roll -
caress
finger-tips
lips
rattlesnake - she bit -
fell upon my
shoulder winking at
existence
-
Benjamin Woolley May 2016
There are so many traps
to the self
Always
something to measure
someone to put
down

It's all insecurity.

You can't shake the feeling that
it matters
But it's all so ******
the news stories
Facebook friends
television
3 million people together in
a city
And
you keep thinking you're
out
until you get caught
(tunnel vision or whatever)

out
shopping for groceries
and someone looks
at you
or suddenly
a hot pair of leggings
is picking out
grapefruits

and you failed again.
Benjamin Woolley Nov 2014
Slowly we rewrite our past,
memories scrubbed clean as glass,
every day more clear than last.

Slowly we rewrite our past,
no more smudges taint what's pure,
now I'm sure... always sure.

Slowly we rewrite our past,
until it's as if we never cared at all.
Benjamin Woolley Oct 2014
come in late, the band's already setting  up,
On a hot night in New Orleans,
furniture murmurs along grainy floors,
sounding too heavy to make it off the ground
-the night has that feel-
light hangs ***** in the air.
I could stick around for the show,
but you're upstairs.

through the floor - we feel it - we hear it-
those first few notes-erratic-blasting
-a few too sharp, you might wince,
but each note tunes a little tighter,
until they all cut us free.

On hot night in New Orleans,
we can only move in music,
my body against your body like a drum,
Bah-dum, bah-dum;
every gasp, a cymbal crash,
interrupted by my tongue,
Tis-ah, tis-ah;
the brass follows in, feeling their way,
Brah-dah-dah, brah-dah-dah,
slightly rough at first,
but then, they find their grasp,
squeezing the keys-pressing ******* the valves-pumping the slide,
Bah-dum-brah--dah-tis-ah-dah;
now the night is alive,
you can feel the strings coming,
Dee-dah-doh-dah-dum-dum;
and we're dancing as nimbly as the keys until the band packs up.

On a hot night in New Orleans
we're in love.
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