Why I don’t write poetry…

The drink in me makes me unabashed. So here goes nothing…everything? (Meh, wordpress won’t let me add breaks, despite my expansive knowledge of HTML. So * = paragraph break

About a Boy

To the Lolito:

Lo-li-to, keeper of her freshman dreams.

She wants him, crisp and unknowing,

the bearing from a blush harvest,

an infant sun behind a cloud of infallible dreams,

But she chases puffs of amorous smoke

She will let it sift through fingers that know too much,

but speak too little.


She wishes for silence in this vein,

dreaming of a touch that is vietato.

She knows your native words,

but your mouth still seeks discipline.

Languid is the language here, lithe and taut,

The rubber band beyond the stretch,

The hitch of your back against her rug,

Here and there and where the movement seeks we.


The woman will have the boy

And need, in this room, will turn him into a man.


5 thoughts on “Why I don’t write poetry…

  1. I realize the typo above– you get the jest.
    By the way, “keeper of her freshman dreams” is a great line as well.

  2. very nice, definitive yet searching, great verbal assault, that is smooth leaving the reader awakened with intensity yet leaving the unspoken with much more impact. An enviable work!

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