Sunday, June 12, 2016

So how soft is it? (scanned notebook)

So how soft is it, I think as I drink at the bar
and watch her in the mirror, a mirage I dare
not look at directly or go blind. I live in the
midst of myth like this, recalling warnings I heard
as a kid about wanting too much of the wrong
things, and how I might end up bad -- never able
to understand then or now how it might be possible
to ache more or to want less, and now much more
of a curse I might get if I crossed over the
imaginary line between need and want into
know. So how soft are those lips and how
sweet would they taste if kissed? Will I
spend enternity in hell if I insist on a kiss
since I already know a kiss is not the bliss
I seek, but only the eye in the lock -- as
if wanting the way I do is as much a sing as doing.
Why should I deny it if I am already
doomed to burn, and how much worse
will that fire be than the fire raging already
inside me?

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