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 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
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
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