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Poking Around

Do you remember when we would get drunk, and I would feel your naked body

All the parts that I like

And you would be open allwhere and I'd be there

Poking around?

 

Then in the day I would talk about beautiful things with the people who offered a rip in themselves

Or talk beautifully about things

Or talk about things

Or talk.

 

And I would walk for awhile and imagine myself wherever I please

Pretending here and there

With honor melting from the world and into me and only me

So when we met again we were strange and new

And it would be time to drink again

So you and I could be open allwhere

And poke around.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

There was a time in my early 20s when I was so full and so empty at the same time, living in cold water apartments, sleeping in bathtubs, fucking and pretending, and going to college.  I've lived at sea now for a few years and sex and seduction are more and more becoming distant memories.  This poem is about a strange time when one could be naturalistic without being ineloquent, and heartfelt yet unsentimental, and get away with the grandest prize.  Looking back on it now and writing this, it seems very sad and beautiful and alien and a little evil, and I miss it late at night and early in the morning.

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©24 April 2013 - 3:46pm — depthinmeters