#makingloveintheafternoon
the flesh goes familiar, those “things “ that manufactured
desire frequent, hacked by time, weakness of spirit, no blame,
just the same, the not so vague re-collections, not insane, we-
we’re crazy desirous in ways only humans can rationalize
naked crazy desire, mating for life, the eroticism of certain letters,
e, k, s, t & y
and unbefitting, un-bewitting:
accident incredible incredulous,
you have spelled ecstasy,
not reality for ecstasy
is a state of trying to
make memories so crazed
that they become
lore
factual,
actual,
but beyond
belief,
singed with
grief, at their
disappearance
from current
history.
we play Prince, Michael Jackson,
The Commodores,
like the way
we tasted,
eclectic,
eclectic,
********
direction,
the wordle
of interconnected
devolvement
fluidity
she states you write differently,
what’s the differential that been inserted?
are you pregnant or just elder?
her head shaking, possible sighting
of tears, fall into teacups, poured into
the aquarium, where the species
remind us we don’t cross breed,
and when we don’t, we master
the creation of rationalizations
and know, no, that it is a far worse
than the then of naked, pure, unlimited
desire.
ah.
we agree,
that changing my name
would be gracious,
efficacious,
hazardous, potentially
noxious and go back
to our laptops to
shed verbal tears.
Aug 18, 2024
Aug 18, 2024 at 2:57 PM UTC
he rises with words in his unwashed mouth,
mouth, is unwashed, tongue tastes dregs, bits
of morsels of his past, some good, some bad,
some tastes of places, of women he has loved,
sweetness of sorrow, dregs of regret, and all a
jumbled, tumbled, intertwined, clinging combo
of nations, his~stories …a mashup of a mashup’s
smashup
he tries to separate them, this admixture, to better
recall, but the sacrificial fire lit, the ember-members
are too burnt, indistinguishable and can’t find the
vive entre les differences…
South of france, tahiti, the one he loved in cities,
Toronto, L.A., and Portland, and the communes
in Asia, but tries harder but it’s no longer possible
to separate the essences and the similarities same,
and a great sadness is what he recovers when runs
his tongue across the roof of his mouth, the roof of
his memory, the roots of his…being…his unbecoming
he rises to a glorious day, where he is can’t be sure,
who he is with, certainly not, the why, but he recovers
some pants and the idea of a fresh start seeps creepy in,
but by the time both legs dressed, his mind’s eye wanders
to a new sunrise and old template of temptations. . .
Jul 28, 2024
Jul 28, 2024 at 7:30 AM UTC
The Tenderness
My hand slow motion falls, with the soft of the gentlest rain,
sensed,
but not disturbing, nay reassuring,
by the quality of the sensation, rolling caresses over
the hillocks of her body, outlined beneath the
Sea of Coverlets
My arm rotates and reverses, back forth, up down,
as if it were a well oiled engine, the hand strokes with
a smooth four cylinder stroke, gentle coating the panorama of
her body on the surface of our Planet-of-the-Bed.
The woman does not stir, meaning the dewey doux
intensity of my touch, there sufficient to please but
not disturb, is a perfect ten, for I intuit, that she attends
to my comforting attentions, with pleasure
by the
absence of objection.
This will not be the first poem I have written on this day,
but though not premiered, the experience is newly born
with each escapade of tenderness delivered, and steel hard
iron of ironies, it please. me as much if not more, for fully
awake and alert, am receiving by the giving and though
she stirs not, my heart does, for the electrical pulses of my
soothing her, soothe me in much the same way.
This is how I make love in the morning.
This is why this Poems is well titled and entitled as
“The Tenderness”
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 6:54 AM UTC
i love poetry
unto
death or till
the watch
stops ticking
which ever comes
last.
Jun 20, 2020
Jun 20, 2020 at 9:49 AM UTC
i’m the man who’s gonna wake up next to you
slipping away, a non-starter, her leg crosses over mine,
a right sided shakedown shackle, adhesion flesh as
tough as old yellowed scotch tape sticking stuck
no escaping, a known 6:00am risk when you sleep with
a pre-advertised holy roller, twist and turner woman,
making you into an unofficial woe-man (too)
left hand grabs the lamenting instrument, the beat up iPad,
to record your enslavement, a distraction from the bladder’s
faint morn winking at you with a Cheshire grin, muffling a
chuckle, at a predicament wonderful familiar, but unresolvable
this situation, a category of life’s small measure of annoyances,
invokes the wordy title, and a write-down list of pluses and minuses,
which I’ll spare which o’witch be the longer list
poems are where you find them, under your nose,
looking out a city bus window, but sometimes like flypaper,
they just come unasked and stick to you, the separating of the skin,
like a too tight bandaid, ain’t worth the pain and freedom gained
later, share this missive and her suggestion, she will prepare an
NDA (a non-disclosure agreement) or adopt other strategies like
pushing me out of the bed without warning when i am typing ,
to witch and to wit, reply,
ah!
another poem commissioned, and
*perhaps, name change too, needed,
making love in the morning*
12/14/19
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
a (the) woman’s body (pretty pleasing)
is my reciprocal
her waist is my happy place
her neck is my doorway
the rest is
best when she is mirror accessorizing,
preening, **** upon first rising,
tallying the gains and the losses
unaware of my watching,
never satisfied she, tho she is 98% unadmitting contented,
as she shifts her weight,
from knee to knee extended alternating
with slow delicacy
for the pleasure is trebled
for her imagine image reverberates
throughout the house
for ever(y) mirror is pre-positioned,
accidentally angled just so, lol,
her image transported from living room to dining alcove
all the way to the kitchen’s bleacher seats
she doesn’t know and asks why I’m grinning,
answer is
no confessionary, no telling I’m swelling and
sinning
eyes scheming-dreaming of her reciprocity
she smiles and says
“good morning bad boy”
maybe she does know
but you won’t tell her,
we, you and me,
are pretty pleasing
she is 1/me
she is won over me
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC