I think of you
loving me
and it makes me so happy
that I feel I can’t live without you
and that makes me sad
to put such a burden upon you
that I cannot be glad
when you are not there
but being apart from you
for any time makes me frustrated
and only the touch from you
makes me feel elated.
The longer you are kept from me
increases my anger
but still, I know it’s not fair to you
and so I feel ashamed.
The thought that walking away from you
is what’s best for you
plunges me to the depths of despair
and the idea of hurting you
sinks me still lower
and I never want to cause pain or harm you
because I love you
so much
and the thought of you
loving me
makes me so happy…

I’m scared of the way you make feel
(i’m scared of the way i’ll feel without you)
I’m scared of never seeing you
(i’m scared of seeing you every day
that you cannot be mine)
I’m scared of the future
(and the past
and the present
i never know in which i’m living)
You make me feel nineteen
(awkward
neurotic
paranoid about every word
jealous of every body)
You make me feel older than God
(you make me feel.)

I want to write a poem
like the conversations we once had,
a poem lasting two hours
(with brief interruptions
for loss of service)
written
as you sit on a train
read
as you clean your room
covering every topic
trivial and deep
for the pleasure of talking.

[I want to leave

blank spaces
for the pauses

comfortable silence
when I listen to your breathing]

I want to create images
on paper
of nothing
of doing nothing
of what I had for dinner, what’s on TV
and know
that none of it matters
the words I choose
are not important
the contact
the connection
is all.

It seems that we
(you and me)
have known each other all our lives.
We can talk
we can be playful
(and you don’t pull my hair
like the others.)

It seems that we
(you and me)
are a perfect two, together.
You are funny
you are smart
(and you are the best in my class
at football.)

It seems that we
(you and me)
were meant to be together.
Always laughing
always in love
(you licked my face,
and wiped your nose on my jeans    
because you thought it was romantic.)

I watched her walk
away
with a wiggle

and thought of Bukowski
sitting here
lifting the hem of her skirt
just an inch
to see what the tops of her stockings were like

and

I thought of apples
two of them in a paper bag
slightly too ripe
yet with unblemished skin
and full of bursting promise.

All the beautiful women in the world
all the actresses
dancers             
models
and
letter turners

all the princesses
pop stars’ wives
***** queens
and
fashion icons

melt like candles
lit at the altar in prayer

become liquid and slowly drip  
their beauty away
to gather in a clear pool at my feet.

All the beautiful women in the world
aren’t
anymore

when I look you.

You have two hours to complete this poem.
Do not start reading it until you are told to do so.

Any attempt at original interpretation will be penalised.
All ‘insights’ must be taken directly from your tutor’s point of view.
All quotes should be plagiarised and not credited.
Anyone found copying sample essays will be rewarded.

Do not attempt to understand or feel the poem in any way.

If you have read these instructions clearly you have no need to read this poem at all

Do not turn over (you’re done).