A third poem

[rozk]

LOVE POEM

You're out with someone else. They're smart and young;
they've ink on arms and lower back - a dove
drawn by Picasso. Later, they remove
the ribbons from their hair. And then their tongue

is on your shoulder blade; their fingers touch
the space between two ribs, and nestle there.
You wonder for a second if it's fair
and then you kiss them back. It is of such

moments that knowing you're in love is made
because you break the kiss, and stroke their brow
like parents do. And then you wonder how
to do this kindly, then say 'I'm afraid

that this won't do.' They leave. You lie alone
and then call her you hope for on the phone.

Comments

[matociquala.livejournal.com]

Fuck, you're good.

[tsubaki-ny.livejournal.com]

Yep. ^___^

[larryhammer]

Ooo -- nice. And ouch.

(Though I had to read that last line a couple times, to parse it out: "then call the one you hope for ... ")

---L.

[buggery.livejournal.com]

I am so glad I waited until my head wasn't all muzzy to read this, because it is fantastic. It would've knocked me on my arse if I weren't already lying down!