A New Leaf
for C.D.

i.
Crystal’s all over my shirt
it was white when I put it on

women to hug and I’m sullied

I’d invite her up on me
like one might mount a horse

no other way to ride,
to rid myself of sadly alone

how close we get when I see her
when we meet
our greetings like no other

sullied shirt or not or whatever,
I have to have her arms about me,
her legs about me

her and me, squealing like pigs in mud
muddied with each other
in mud together

in a muddle,
unable to unloose or untie

ii.
if only she and I were naked,
her legs could get about me
like her arms were about me

she and I, disturbing the peace
the meeting going on
with our meeting, our greeting

always off her feet when we say hello

my darling, though she abuses drink,
too much wine or beer
or other alcoholic beverages

mixes these possibly with marijuana
and in addition, goes with girls

but we’ve connected, bonded
something so strong between us

somehow, could attach with her there,
like that, my pin in her
could make twins of us

like what attaches two vehicles
one to pull the other

attached though, face to face
to in this way get to heaven
get together

everything suggests we would,
we could
fit emotionally and physically
like vulgar fractions

iii.
our hugging alone
able to disturb the peace,
to bring the neighbors knocking

shhh! requiring us to hush,
shush, to quiet down

sounds we make when we meet,
sounds happy makes
but fully clothed, on our feet

what if we were to disrobe,
lie down or fall down
what a disturbance we’d make then

condoms on tables,
strips of three packs

all these rings, these hoops
to leap through into intercourse
implied, suggested

I’d leap through fire to get into you
whip crack, whip snap not required

audience at a circus around us
or in private, cheering us on

or neighbors knocking
walls too thin or houses too near

how wild we drive each other so easily
what if we really tried

see how far we were able to go
to push or pull or fly

flapping like bats or birds or angels

how wide the wings of eagles are

I suppose I write poetry
because I like things discrete


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2008
Written between 9:30 p.m.
10.12.08 and 3:35 a.m. 11.12.08