Hoo nose / Hoo new / Hoo wants me now

Hoo nose, when there’s so much to win

and so much to lose by not coming

first: someone comes first but

in love either way is as loving as

seconds and minutes and hours.


And hoo new, when there’re so many dots

to connect: I wish I were necking your

body right now: I wish I could touch your

hot flushes and rushes and touching

muches: I wish I could wake up with

your long body

along mine; and, strangely, heer you call

for me, and then heer your laugh

with me, and then heer you moan

because of what I do to

you and your beautiful, beauti-

filling body of love and life and living

and chivvying and laughter out loud

and proud battles to be-

come in my heart like me in you: your

soul and your body of love and

life and living:

the person you’ve always striven

to be: you are my example:

I shall never forget:

I can never forget:

I have never forgotten:

I never forget.

(And I even remember on Facebook

one day, a long time ago,

a weird time ago,

when the system informed

me your offspring playing games, as

offspring rightly do, that – of all the

people in the world they could

choose from – it was me

they’d least like to see in naked pose.

Do you feel the same now?  Is that

how it is?  Me, battered by time and

sadness gone wrong, and the whizzing past of

hope and means to live life

as life was meant to be lived …)


And hoo nose;

hoo new;

hoo wants me now?

Hoo wants a battered battle-scarred

wearisome man who once proudly

stood on the barricades of future –

brought home to wisdom and kindness

and ways of making humanity a reality

for all?

Hoo needs all that shit?

Hoo likes any more to like anything which

can’t be unliked at the touch

of a button?  A button I’d undo

rather than touch: first one, and

then another.  And a woman I’d undo: first her

mind, and then her blinding body: the love

she found in almost everyone she met: the

caustic wit: the gentleness all the

same: the whirling wisdoms of

a lifetime and more.

She lives beyond any person I’ve known: she

lives beyond the edge of this rock, so that

stopping and not falling is no

longer an option: you’re the only thing

I think about; the only thing

I’ve thought about; the only thing

I’ve dreamt about; the only person whose

door of love I’ve wanted to enter

and banter with

and chunter with

and wonder with.

The only person I ever want to

be with.

My dawning morning.

My darkening dusk.

The musk of your sex on my breath.

And the easy afternoon in kitchen

exchanged: a coffee shared, a book

discussed, a sofa spread out upon.

And in the midst of normal activity, a

glance leads to quite some other thought:

we both begin to idly touch the

other: the sex is not separate but a

part of the whole: I love your

whole, I love its darkness, I love

being in love

with you.



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