Something lost or never had September 6, 2014

 

I got to Asbury first, then to Ocean Grove, searching the shore line for whales I would otherwise see later during my trip to Cape May, this stroll through memory lane, from that time way back when I came here looking for girls, the Stone Pony still fresh with the echoes of the Boss’ music, later coming back lost, after part other Casino fell, no Latin lovers, just the hum of a sea I could not see in the dark of night, but felt, and still feel, each time I come, the pleasure palace, humping those silly machines, roller bladers passing under the crumbling arch, sand dunes rising nearby with people sweeping it for hidden treasure, and even in the dead of winter, I search for rumors of whales, like angels who might come to save me, as I stumble along the boardwalk, passed the shops selling seaside junk, aching now as I ached as a kid, searching for something I lost or never had, this place full of ghosts, full of things that stick inside me.

 

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Rose agsin

 I hold the rose to my chin, can almost taste it, as sweet as it is,The fragrant petals teasing my lips, it's so tender, so soft, I ache to kiss, this love, this deep desire, frail in my hands ,so I dare not hold it too closely, love has thorns,  small sacrifices we make how sometimes, we need to bleed to prove our worth, the scenth

 So sweet, this Rose, potent, tasting it with the tip of my tongue, licking off the drips of rain from each fold, this Rose, this love, this tender device that haunts me even when I can no longer hold it near, a memory I can't shed, do not want to, wishing  instead to plunge deep into it, to feel its consume me, love like a rose, for which I believe

Where pleasure and pain reside June 28, 2015

  

I still dream, wish, hope for, permission she might give me, in some cheap seaside motels, her hands and feet tied, legs and arms splayed, her whole naked shape exposed, waiting, anticipating the pleasure, pain that would come next, me, hovering over her, preparing for a kiss of lips, tits, and the in-between tongue, lashing, each inch of flesh until we are both too typed to remain gentle, the plunge into the depths, and the pushing into the imaginary four holes, then the desperate coming – up for air, my dream, wish, hoping flooding into my head each night as I settled into bed, dreaming, wishing, hoping she might slip in between the sheets, this imagined journey, from lips to toes, Tongue lashing her like a whip, leaving no marks save what we have inside, where all pleasure and pain reside.

 

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Sizing her up April 17, 2012

 

 

She stacks her jeans

In vertical shelves

As if filing paperwork,

Drawing them out

By size,

As if she’s never sure

Which will fit her today,

Admitting her obsession

With being overweight

When she rarely is,

Perception being the core

Of reality,

What she seen in the mirror,

Which may or may not

Really be there,

And me, seated

A few feet away,

Amazed at how

Organized she is,

All of our lives

Regulated by rituals

Like these,

Which size fits us

On this day,

When in reality

She barely changes,

While I always wear

The same size,

Too snug,

Too much the same way

Day in and day out

I envy her.

 

 

 

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how do I make love 2014

 

do I make love to her

let me count the ways

to touch the nape of her neck

the space beneath her breasts

the small of her back

 putting fingers into the space

that needs a key to unlock it all

 all this time later I still lack

 the combination she says

is needed to unlock her heart

 love a vague notion

that transcends touch or breath

smell or taste

we living with the memory

of something that sometimes

never occurred

 except in a dark and distant embrace

the night talk always meant to stay private

for love making made with words

 we dare not repeat by daylight h

ow do I make love to her

 let me imagine all the ways

 

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It doesn’t mean anything Feb. 6, 2013

  

It doesn’t mean anything until it does, like saying size doesn’t matter, when it is all there is, like that time when she took a long ride through New York State with her boyfriend when she stumbled onto the perfect job, only the dean there has already offered it to someone else, all this from an account by an admirer who did not see the forest for the trees, or suspected something might have been amiss when she campaigned to get that job, and mysteriously, the dean took back his offer to that other person and gave it to her. It meant something then.

Or that time when her girl friend’s boyfriend began his campaign to get her, and she eventually relented, thinking it didn’t matter, until the SOB decided he wanted more than she offered, and then it meant something.

And so, when she told me how it didn’t matter with that guy she picked up at a bar, I believed her, even though I wondered whether or not it mattered when my time came to bat, and how I still wish it did since it mattered to me.

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No regrets? Sept. 23, 2013

 

 Yes, I regret it,

not going,

 not being there to witness it all,

 the court room drama,

the parade of people

 this one last glimpse of her

in all her finery,

 a queen bee floating

through the musty air,

 looking all so powerful

 while mortal men quake

 at the thought she might sting

yet, I don’t regret it,

 having already collected

 all those visions of her,

 pleasing or painful,

 the girl in the lobby

wearing a sun dress

and sunglasses,

 the stern professional

parading up the stairs

passed me,

the images she posted

 deep in the dark of night,

her face more angelic

than demonic,

though always just as tempting,

 it is not worth the risk,

 even for a last glimpse,

even knowing

 I may never see her in the flesh again.

 

 

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