Tuesday 11/28/2006 01:09:00 AM

It was nothing anyway.

Two strangers fall in love. And then forget.

Eachother.

Rouge sheets thick with sex. Burst like a blister. And we wipe away the pus.

Two strangers catch each other's names. And we keep those beds. Tuck them in like children desperate for a story.

That ends well.

It was nothing. Just strangers. In lover's clothes.

Blaming that wolf again.

6 comments:
Adam said...

I enjoy the approach you used in this poem. I would like to further comment after reading it a few more times.

Adam said...

I think I was ten.

The clothesline hung low and the hide n’ seek
game had grown into the night, blossoming
like the moonflowers in my mother’s garden.
Somewhere between catching the wire with my
neck and the ground catching me, I caught

a glimpse of how quickly comfort rolls over to pain.

--I wanted to send you a poem. I am not you. I don't share your pain or your vision, but I feel when I read your poems. Keep that one eye looking out. Two eyes focused on introspection is devestating.

Cocaine Jesus said...

far too long in discovering this site. far too long.

alcoholic poet said...

adam - interesting story. feel free to send your poem if you wish.

cocaine jesus - thanx. glad you like it.

i checked out your factor ape sex blog. am going to add it to my list of blogs to read.

Catullus said...

Yes, you are right. We meet as strangers and part as strangers... in the end always the same.

This poem gave me chills.

alcoholic poet said...

cat - strangers, friends. i have a hard time distinguishing.

am flattered to know you were so moved.



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