Thursday, July 19, 2007

Any Bliss Left
for Shamija Moncur

bruised man, stretched, strained
strings about to pop, so near exhaustion
near sleep or near dying

will I keep, should I, or assist demise

water what I seek, rest, what is life-giving

a poem in what is strained
a poem though I am drained
out of this old man, out of this old world

promise to keep before I sleep

delicious in my arms, in me still
full woman, fill her clothes out
fill my arms up, my senses, with brown skin,
with eyes lit with fire flies,
too illusive to catch

with breasts suggesting, “bare them!”
to look at, to suck up, suck on, suck in

until I were fully alive again
look her up and down, lick her up and down

undress her with eyelids, two pairs
I open and shut with passion

want to roll away the clothes she wears
a piece up, a piece down
until she were wholly naked, holy bare
until I was holding her naked

beating hearts, two drums in the morning
coming forth to carry me home…

joy enough to want to die, to want to end life

life would end, another would begin
were I to eat her, fuck her, were I about to

like two lovers on a Grecian Urn,
in Spring, about to kiss, always about to

I'd want her wet before I entered,
centered myself in earth and heaven
axis for the world to spin on

world of her hips, world of mine
turning in time to a CD of love songs


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2007
6:12 a.m. 19/07/07

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