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PMc Sep 16
We were young and foolish, she the younger –
I the more foolish
hair falling softly from the table she would lie on
using keys to the dark-room during lunch hour
so we could “finish the yearbook”
excited by thoughts of getting caught during those encounters

The red light accentuated the perkiness of her *******, taught
filled with passion and energy.
I would lick my way past her belly button and could taste the chlorine from her recent swim practice.
her pool-noodle legs arched up, inviting me to stare at her
newly formed mound, still growing into her thighs
it was delightful.

She was beautiful.

Years on I’d come to spend more time with the woman from
cash register four – Thursdays noon till 8.
we were uncommitted to commitment thus,  
neither of us took too much, too seriously

She wore her hair shorter on a-countta’ it got so ****** hot
in that store,
        she would sometimes dehydrate – her neck glistening.
from the store and the hot flashes.

Her ******* would sway from side to side as she lay there waiting for me to undress
the evenings were rather unceremonious –
though quite memorable.  We never lacked energy.
Quite memorable.

Once golf-ball sized ******* had begun to sink into her abundant pillowy chest.
I would take forever it seemed ******* like a child
        until they obeyed the demand for attention.

Rounding her hips, I could taste the day-long sweat
smothered under that poly-nylon store smock
Later, she would toss her leg over mine, allowing me more than a glimpse
of her “womanhood” she called it.
all matted and twisted from the long afternoon
her greying ***** beginning to show her age
along the rest of her body.

She was beautiful.

The -older woman- referred to me as “well rounded” – the lady four years my senior
summer afternoons we’d spend quietly just sitting on the bed
Sometimes, with nothing to say
Most of her hair had left her head by now from the months of chemo

Gentle massage to her shoulders and upper arms somehow quelled her headaches
from time to time she would welcome me
“be gentle” she would whisper
I would

Kissing the nape of her neck to make way for her remaining breast
She’d had the other removed months ago.

I could taste the dusty sun-screen from her gardening
just above the tops of her hips
kissing my way down the pudge folds of her belly to her thigh
then what remained of her once neatly trimmed mound
now silver/grey/white
muddled and untidy if at all.

She was so beautiful.
An amalgamation of fact and fiction.  Years on I have at least my memory.
PMc Sep 6
Huh - some hero
a broken man of broken dreams
found crawling from the ditch dredged by strangers
while his own ruination, a physical half-shell
emotional snakes and ladders

Ever courageous through – always the light-hearted of the herd
not quite nerdy but an intellect (of sorts)
a man of letters
sometimes “too many notes”

Poured from the gravy boat of left-overs
the wannabe saviour swims to rescue the damsel
whom he knows will know better
she’s seen his ilk before
all shining armour, will tarnish given time
those cathedral etchings from years gone by
with the sunlight shining from his mouth
spouting poetry from centuries past
nary an original thought will develop from what’s left
of his imagination
dulled by realities of daily news

The saviour has pledged allegiance
an honour to truth both unspoken and said
a respect for taking turns
to laugh, cry or feel nothing sometimes

The damsel knows he can’t make up his mind
about much at all.  

If he can’t save his own life – how the hell will
he ever pretend to prop hers

Huh – some hero.
When we look in the mirror some days - it doesn't shine as brightly as it does on others.  Not a dullness but - reality (?)
PMc Sep 2
A no hot-water turns Friday hotel frivolity into
“****-it” fortune and we just wanna’ go home

Burned toast with hard margarine, returns of
peanut butter and honey
makes most of morning’s breakfast
plugged sewers back toilets up non-serviceable
the bus is late, and the garage band sound-track is far too loud
conversation is inaudible, speed detrimental
spirit now dented

Stressors of first steps toward tomorrow’s last long look at love lost
bright financial future seeming more like
rainy Sunday afternoons

I needed a giggle more than ever
from you dear friend, a simple text
proved enough to lighten the load, broaden the smile
put it all into perspective while looking forward to our
one day together.
One of those days that starts out like crap - and we look at it in perspective and MUST make the most of the day we're left with.  Play the hand we're dealt so to speak.  One kind word or a good giggle from a friend can turn perception into reality.
PMc Sep 2
Run away with me like we wanted to
when were twelve
toss it all to join my circus
we’ll see the world through rose coloured glasses
we bought from the dollar store
on our way past the thrift shop

Steal away my time, like you have
in my dreams
necking near the water’s edge
making love in hotel rooms vacated by vagrants
with ***** linen
and empty plastic mickey bottles

Spend a day with me, unplanned, uncharted
we’ll *** cigarettes to pretend we smoke
dine in a fancy establishment and spend the last
of our sixty-four dollars and twelve cents
tax and tip included
reminding each other what it’s like to just enjoy
enjoy the day free of what freedom takes away when
freedom isn’t free

Take a moment with me, breathe in fresh new friendships
hug one another like we mean it
look into one-another’s eyes for so long, it reminds us that we have
but this moment.
Spent a summer with a terrific woman who had the *****, sense of humour and drive I had ever hoped for.  Our lives got in the way but - for those brief moments on that warm summer afternoon........aahhhh....
PMc Jul 22

Loud, raucous, at times rude
she makes fun of me in front of my friends
noting how I root for the wrong team,
can’t remember people’s names,
other earth shattering idiosyncrasies,
obviously annoying
buddies ask – why bother

     Sunday morning, my friend
     when sun pours through lace by the barrel
     listen to her breathe, watch her ******* up and down
     now taste ******’s milk,
     listen to her whisper ***** words into my ear

Lousy at fighting, two topics simultaneously
she dares me to leave, hit her, whatever.
Spitting at me through tones reserved to discipline
an eight year old,
screaming how much I am wrong, why I can’t get my **** together,
the boiling point of near-hatred surpassed
and I consider departure

     Recalling lips parted kissing me here
     yes-and there, her astride
     the pumping madman within me deep within her
     pleasure almost painful, joyous to recite
     sweat pouring down our faces
     another Friday night alone

We roll our bodies laden in massage oil with stinking passion
She rolls over – sighs - lights a smoke – exhausted – dreams

     The only time she ever shuts up.
I will apologize in advance for those who search for, and find the misogyny through this.  Based on a true story.
PMc May 12
I’ve felt a love that shatters my
inner soul.

To lead the rest of my life inside
your sanity,
would be, to end a relationship with
the me I have come to know.

Leave the nuances and bits
of trivia.
I can introduce you to the meaning,
and the spirit of being ALIVE!

A spirit undone as you enter a truly
imaginary / reality.

A world where fantasies are created
by what you see & touch & feel
within the marrow
of your
inner soul
Wow - found this in a box from some fourty years ago.  I don't remember for whom it was written.  I do know that I've lived long enough to experience this all over again.
PMc May 12
At the risk of overdoing it, I find myself thinking about you again
Summers are gone, and as days fly by
soft evenings, curtains drawn
won’t give way to fireplace warmth
time and distance are the nare-sayer yet again.

At the risk of losing my sanity, I find a quiet coffee corner that hasn’t given way to gas station convenience.
The wifi-lessness forces pen to page in hopes of finding
the inner me to reach out
to upper you, when headspace gives way to life-changing, life-long decisions
about the kids, the car, the commute, the kitchen cupboards, the commitment
the chaos

At the risk of underdoing it, you plan with military precision every last detail of your move
Each fateful false move joined and re-joined
as you would lose puzzle pieces

At the risk of losing it all, you won’t have the time to work on a proverbial “we”
There is no “we” to re-join
so it can’t be overdone
you deny the “we” never was.

At the risk of losing what might be “we” entirely, my pen and paper dictate that
now is not the time to pursue such matters,
whatever “we” is or will be, will have to wait

as will your puzzle.
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