Tag Archives: love

The Man I Want

Another you
You looked into my eyes and sold me shoes
You looked into my eyes
You got inside me and made me want
When you finished even you didn’t want me
You smiled and laughed and I bought the shoes beneath
Your raised eyebrows
But at that time you had a she who you loved

Then some time later I came to you again
An initiate
And I was lost in my mind as you played
Music
I drank until I could never be full again
And you played on
And you began to see how I cared

I wanted to help you selling drinking listening
Every part of you I wanted gave way
To something deeper
Every part of you I tried to build up with me
You smiled and laughed and I brought the shoes
Beneath your raised eyebrows

We lived for centuries moments corrupt with love
To last lifetimes we lived I lived for you
You’ve seen this
And all in quiet brown wood and cotton and wool
All in these ancient fabrics and the root of all colours
Your words are the sweetest rose thorns

We’re sitting at the bar and you take the one with most
Bubbles and I have the remainder that tastes
Tinted with your touch I
Imagine things
We enjoy the places between oblivions
Bookended like that they’re the only life

I caught you in my trap

That springs to rub along sides
Grasp and hold in warm places
You thought some libertine’s
Evening that these bodies
Would stop your capturing
So wanton a hare as this
Loose on your lot and holding
My hips some sachets of condiment
Served for this blissful moment
Ghosts possess the mind’s eye
Totemic emblems are tossed

The fact of a mythological meeting
Is always lost whether
In faerie caverns or converted
Bedrooms the feel of my flesh
Between your fingers recedes
Dreamt away with the flaccid joy
Of distinctly female caresses
Needing to be touched
The alarm clock and the bottle unfinished
The questions dissolved in ultraviolet daylight

You walk away with a limp or

Otherwise encumbered

farewell the bottle

Off-blue wall light and standing lamps that don’t stand
A single magazine on the table advertising crochet
The abyssal antechamber hangs off an endless
The kind of corridor you find in pyramids
Or don’t find
We waited for nothing and then someone came
To announce it was ready and read about crochet
Instruments could not play or work
A wide room, a single flower pot and hotel bedsheets
I walked over to his vacancy
The stillness does not end so I walk to the soft head
I kiss his blue lips that are blue like strange lipstick
I push my tongue into his cold mouth
His beard has not grown back to tickle my nose
He is dead and we all seem to know
So we leave the flesh on the bones to rot a little
Before the flames
The pyramid makers did not understand.

He’s a lovely lad but my advice remains

Forget him and find someone else easier
And smoother I think but much less desirable
Easier easy is good I think life is short and
Love is long etc ah love easy don’t fall in love
Easy though love is hard falling in love is
Easy you wanna love easy and fall in love
Hard and not for long a wank is a way out
Of feeling and meditation is this pent up lust
Only helps you enjoy the torment of longing
This guy Charles Bukowski is a genius I’d
Love him but he’s dead and he wouldn’t want
My love he’s dead comes first though coz if
I sucked him hard and drunk enough he
Might want me before the end cums

Twelfth Night Live and Online

There’s a love beyond a fuck that lasts
And a fuck beyond love too short they
Meet constantly like in a cheap Shake-
spearian comedy mistaken and struck
By tragedy but still living and awaiting
True recognition these siblings these
Comrades these necessary parts of one
All mixed and split in our lives so ruined
This too often unhappy tumbling a pain
In the repetition a sublime join in the
Resolution so long lost and trampled

You can fuck or be fucked and enjoy it
But not love eachother, and you can love
Forever without fucking, you can love
Deeper than sex, I wouldn’t necessarily
Recommend it but it is possible and the
Problem is we mix them up, someone
Thinks sex is love, someone thinks love
Is sex, people lose lust and go off fucking
And get crushed by their own still virgin
Love and the jealousy and then people
Having affairs think they’re in love just
Because they’re in bed together and all this
Fucking confusion, you need to know
What you’re doing you need to accept
How you feel you can fuck right and love
Right but it won’t always be both, and it
Won’t always be either and you have to
Have the sense to know and know that
Reality will keep on being itself regardless
Of what you want from it and that is just
How the fuck it goes.

Portraits of 19th Century politicians conceal half-remembered

Whispers from your lovesick lips and in the gallery standing
I put my hands down to feel the blue carpet in your room
And pulling at it rough the crunching sound of bunched fabric
Under nails and your eyes wandering to me
We both seem far too sober for this
And I think about going to wash for you
We end up brushing our teeth together after in a marriage
We’ll never see and making a great show of timidity
I slide my trousers down carefully obscuring
Until I’m beneath your sheets and you ask
This honest face this suddenly looking in my eyes
I stole a tiny piece of your heart there
But that’s not what a 19th century face would do
That’s not quite suitable will ruin the portrait
And you go cold as I cuddle you
And now in the morning awake I put away my brushes.

Smooth Cider Like Syrup, in Tankard

Because it brings me dreams of green
Those fillings between hop fields and farm lads
Toiling with their flagons over shoulder and a mean
Wage, hairy youth which sup on apples
The trees in the wind with that summer pollen
Breathing through worms and fruits of the morning
Spurned through til sunset falls atop the crest
The day done the night come

Because it brings me the righteous haze of dripping
Poison, the suckling brown bottle beauty sweating
Cold, the farm hands amid the crops caressing hands,
And beads of milky sweat on the brow, they stream
Salt shaken and mineral and pure to the lips
They press on the tongue their sheep’s eyes

Because it brings me sugar with its continual sipping
And slurping chasing the dream, taking away
Meagre earnings for meatier pleasures,
and the hanging fruit.

About Romantic Odds

(a drunk normally writes too simply for anyone)

It doesn’t matter but you didn’t come
I barely asked you to but you didn’t
You didn’t answer and you didn’t
I sat for two hours with two beers
You would disapprove
I didn’t talk but I got some good reading
Charles Bukowski going mad and Orwell down and out
Every minute you didn’t come I spent more of my soul
Every minute you suddenly arriving got more important
Now I know how Bukowski felt about horses
Big dicks and bad odds
I drowned in my two beers and departed.

A Red Handkerchief on Grass

i’m talking to you on the phone with the messages, you’re sending me them and I’m sleepy and in the bed and lying next to her and the sheets are up in me, the sun is coming through yellowy; outside the bed is cold inside the bed is warm
you’re talking in my inner ear with your messages and I’m sending you back, the phone is down and on the floor and in my inner eye you’re walking along this sunny afternoon street to me, you’re in her body and I know and you look at me knowingly but you don’t say why. We know it.
you walk over to me on the grass talking normally, her voice not like her, not unlike you, you sit down next to me talking the same message, there is a tree and a house, I don’t register what you’re saying but it is normal and alright
I want to say I can’t look into her eyes with you in them, look a little too long, and see the mouth, nose, brows and in those features your face looking back, I want you to know I went to sleep wet and this is me dreaming
you might be saying, I might be hearing
I’m reaching over to press down on the clit you’re wearing, soft cotton on top and pushing and you moaning, and warm overhanging in the sun, I mount you, feeding you thru her, in the grass, in the heat
in a sharp movement you get up and back into your body, all in one swift motion but not quite, like a few frames of film were missing, and you walk off, and I feel you; behind you and next to me where we shared blood and semen, a red handkerchief lying flat out as if to absorb stains
I wake up wet and look over at her, sleeping in the white sheets in the yellow light, my hair is in my eyes, I reach for the phone and drop it again, I turn over and stretch out on the mattress and on the pillows, and I rub myself in the mattress, and it hurts in my heart but tenderly and I remember how you sometimes wish you are a woman too