Slices of Warm Bread
for D.B.A.

you and your dolls and pins and pain
your pain and dolls and pins

associating what does not touch
what is not joined

what evil have I done, masturbated
nothing at all evil about that

what I do not like having done
after hours spent with you, evoking,
recalling some woman I used to love

she made me come
and that was pain and not faithful
and it caused pain in a variety of ways
including physically

nothing evil about it all, just weak
here and there and now and then
and wrestling with it, with all of it

with you especially, with love, with now
with you now able to move me
on so many levels, in so many ways

yesterday though, worst than ever
how pure that was

after all the fruit from the night before
and yesterday before I got into
or onto my bed upon the floor

grapes, plums, strawberries, Bartlett pears
and then peanut butter
smeared on thick slices of warm bread
on top of it all, ginger mint tea

images of you and what I'd consumed
combination of these
and what an erection and how long it lasted
like sexual intercourse actually

I recalling images, words, lines
from your poems, most erotic words
most erotic ones
I on my back and you straddling me
dick up in you, you up and down upon it
I pushing, Dee, Dee, D'Anthra

unable to take it
all the overflow, flowing down
and you not around
and you, only God knows where
but from there, sending inspiration

not to my pen in hand
that is arriving only now
inspiring a stiff cock, I never touched it
it was instead
a shaft in the air

was it a flag pole,
you missing from it,
unpatriotic, I singing our anthem,
alone or was I

you had to be in bed with me
there with me, as near to me

able to touch me as you imagine
I am able to touch you or imagine
people can be touched through dolls
pins and needles
pushed through- pushed into them

did you feel my dick today- way up in you
I shoved it where it had not ever been
was it good

turned to Brandy, an old affair
that was another phase

though it ended in orgasm
it was not near as thrilling
as the time we spent
as the time we shared


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:07 a.m. 27.09.10

Pick Up Truck
for D.B.A.

here I am so insecure
without confidence about where I stand in our affair

if I did- if I was it might not have mattered
but with me sitting there
we three sharing the truck's one seat
and you can say to our friend, the driver
the same sort of flirtatious things you'd say to me

give him the very same reason-
extent to him exactly what you extend-
what you'd extend to me

these openings- these doors
invite us push upon them, open, enter

I am placing these papers here between us
said he, and plagiarizing added,
so you'd not think I'm feeling you up
or think I want to

feeling you up even as he says what he said
and you remark in your delicious womanish way
I wouldn't let them get between us

I unable to believe my ears
and if you'd talk like this and in my presence
what encouraging things would you exchange
when I am not around

or is it that I do not matter, present or absent
what are my feeling to acknowledge
what is our relationship to respect
or to genuflect before or about

what is much too real to me
is to you like next to nothing

you are free to flirt with whomever
whenever you choose

thought such delicious, intimate tidbits
were for me to take and to partake of

anyone or any man it seems
can have a taste, can have a bit

that was like piece you gave, you shared
on the truck's front seat in my presence

what am I to feel but envy, but jealous
when I haven't even a vehicle

outside of poetry, can I rival what
he has to offer

and without affirmation with which
I am made to live; our affair, yours and mine
is hardly any more, hardly any deeper
than that moment of exchange you shared

how can I help but envy, be jealous
when you give away the very same candies
you give me

when I am allowed no more than these
or am I or is it that I make more of them

I make poems of what is handed to me
making poem- poetry also
of what you hand to another man, to other men
of what you'd fuckin' hand them in my presence

you do not mind how much you kill me, do you
how severely or how quickly, do you

those few notes exchanged, given away
and nothing as sweet was said to me
all the rest of the day we were together

nothing at all as thrilling as that exchange
was painful to me

went through me like a hole through the day
and any joy which might have occurred
just leaked right out like a bucket
with a hole in it


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
6:35 a.m. 26.09.10

Two Balled Fists
for D.B.A.

talk about heaping insult upon/atop injury
after what you subjected me to
that horrible Sabbath evening
following our visit to Dawn Davies

after how extremely inappropriately you behaved
you dare bring that up, bring that back
you dare comment on the inappropriateness
of one gesture of greeting as opposed to another

suggest there was something uncultivated or uncouth
about offering to fist bump instead of a handshake

what I was subjected to, position I was put in
who did I owe what
how could any demand be made about right behavior
on my part
when you had behaved so extremely wrongly

when, were I to have behaved like someone gone berserk
it should not have been surprising

I was civil and sufficiently under control
to offer to fist bump rather than a fist or several
rather than, with bare hands, attempt to shift
that house you had us take you to upon its foundation

so much to suppress, seething as I was,
insulted as I was and you bold enough
to revisit that evening, that event

my having to be contained within what
only a lunatic could have chosen to do
or to arrange and you dare return to scrutinize
to sneer at my offering a fist bump

suggesting it was lower class or common or street
and this man we had taken you too was a gentleman
or too elevated for a greeting offered under so much pressure
amid such an insult, amid such humiliation

you bring it up, bring it back,
an attempt to humiliate me even further
demote me even more

you do not seem to comprehend
how offended I was then, how offended I am again

my fist bump, instead of it being marveled at
being offered in such a circumstance

what is suggested is that it was beneath him
suggest that I am or I was too

in what universe could or would I or that
be weighed thus
only in a lunatic asylum would such logic apply

thought I should have been awarded a medal
for having behaved so well,
for offering a gesture of friendship
under such circumstances

after what I'd been plunged into
one of the most awful moments
of my entire existence

you are daring to heap this upon that
suggest I do not or did not know how to act
when I could have- should have gone berserk

madly in love and because of it, because of this
treated like shit, subjected to bullshit


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:04 a.m. 17.09.10

Items to Itemize
for D.B.A.

i.
how musical her laughter
her musical laughter

fill up, disrupt wonderfully
the quiet of the bank

I love it, I wonder though
about her baring herself
there or here emotionally

wonder about who might be able
to read her whole history
or our short history in laughter

in laughter emitting from her
like something etched or drawn
against an otherwise almost blank surface
the bank's air conditioned quiet

little, but laughter was loud
butt in blue jeans, not only I observing

others too, men always do
when they pass and look and marvel
and turn and look again and yearn

but she is, if not mine, mine almost
mine somewhat, mine somehow

her laughter's hers
to release, to free, to free her
laughter free, it frees and exposes her

phenomenal woman
what the fuck does she care

she is defiant, fiery,
wonderful and awful

often wonder what I'd leave in
what I'd leave out

but the sum of this, of that
these pluses, minuses
are for her to determine, decide

happy that she insists upon including me
even though, even if
I get to be included
with a lot more that is wonderful

some of it divine
along with junk food, bad food

things to make her belly ache
and to make her take up more
and more space in blue jeans
and in this mad world

she, laughing in it, laughing at it
and at me, knowing that
I love her unconditionally
and that I will go on doing so

ii.
she is a kid still, leaping about still
phenomenal still, phenomenal skill
filling the air with her up and about

her leaping up and settling down
only to start up- to start over again

way a water fountain rises and falls
spouts and at times, stops
like words from a mouth

oh she goes from laughter
from laughing to being serious in a flash
like night and day, alternating sporadically
day or night, night or day

unpredictable the way she'd be
the shoes she'd wear
what word or words she'd utter

my how I made her blush yesterday
annoyed her too, if not for long

she showed me better than ever before
how childish she is still able to be

blew air through her straw
into her vanilla Frappuccino
compared it with volcano erupting
laughing at how silly
she has license still to be
at 18 going on 19

writing poetry at times as riotous
as irreverent as Arthur Rimbaud
when he was around her same age

it turns out miraculously
that he was born in 1854,
100 years before I was born
and died in 1891,
100 years before she was born

iii.
D'Anthra is just a silly nut
with her "en garde" and "touché"
with chop sticks raised

pair between us
we shared one each
to foil fence in Starbucks

day before the store
with its view of the harbour
closed for good

iv.
someone out of the blue
to love you, to care
to be one with
to rescue you
from danger, from fear

I'll always be there
I’ll always be here
as long as life is

v.
what was she thinking, you asked
perplexity covering your face
like an ugly mask
she, meaning Dawn

so what, I said,
do you wish to reduce
whatever exists between us
to nothing

we went through the door
therefore and up the stairs
of Starbucks as it were
separated

you detaching yourself
you in a bad mood
my mood bad also
or not very much better

bumping roughly into people
waiting in line to be served
blinded by our
mutual unhappiness

don't know what
our friend, Dawn, was thinking

what she knows is
that I am thoroughly
madly in love with you

you know that she knows that
all the world almost knows that

what you were perplexed about
what you were asking was:

she knows you're in love with me
is she also thinking
that I'm in love with you

looking perplexed
suggesting that she has to be crazy
such a notion
is a million miles from possible
a million miles from true

are you just toying with me then
stringing me along
for all that my being in love with you
allows you free or for free or freely

not the gifts,
they can be purchased
those I did buy or have bought

but my time, whatever amount
you wanted or needed
along with free access to my intellect
whatever that is worth

measure we do have to go by
context in which we met

it was considered to be worth
$100 an hour, $300 an evening
in the context of COB

you get hundreds of hours free
and you are able to look perplexed
able to be perplexed
able to ask whatever could she,
meaning Dawn, have been thinking
or could have lead her to imagine
that there is anything between us
between you and me

I know though that what is
or has been left out of this debate
is that if you have or have had
hundreds of hours of my time
I have or have had
hundreds of hours of yours

and you have access to my intellect
in exchange for a similar depth
and breadth of access to yours

admit this or these though
and your perplexity again
is undermined

as continually and as deeply
as we are joined
amounts to mating
or amounts to what
or do we demean or insult us
to place any label or name upon it
upon us

your suggesting though
that all that we are, all that we share
amounts to what is less than an item
reduces my life
and how the bulk of it is spent
to meaningless

right thinking, I think,
should have lead you instead
to suggest that she insulted
what we are and what we share
to suggest that we are an item
whatever an item is


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 9:15 a.m.
on Saturday, September 18
and Sunday, 6:11 a.m.,
September 19, 2010

Corn Flakes
for D.B.A.

in a few seconds
or in a few minutes
she said she'd be here

not at all enough time
to break down my house
and build a new one

not enough time
to be conceived
and to be born again

time enough only
to wash my face
to comb my hair

scrub my toilet bowl
pull off the racks and put away
towels, used, dirty
some just rags

I'd not want her eyes to fall on
nor would I want
to fill her eyes with

as for me, I clothe myself
in fresh poetry
fresh silk suits

like I was a silk worm
cocooned in these

until I am released
until it is time to be born

these silk suits to mask
what I wish not seen
what I wish no one to see

things I am ashamed of


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
4:14 p.m. 15.09.10

Drink My Piss
for D.B.A.

take another stab at this
try again to capture- to express this thought

said it time and again without saying it
without conveying it

you push me away from you
you'd push me away from you

were I to turn away from you
where to- who to turn to

what I mean is that what I get from you
is all I get, is what I live with, what I have to

this is what dedicated means
I cry therefore when you are my all and all
when you are sufficient
when you are enough
when I notice or sense you declaring
that you are all I need
or that you can be

that confidence,
knowing that you are that much
that you can satisfy,
that you are sufficient and then some

even with you holding back
even with you mostly depriving me
of all you are- all you can be

but you seem to know that
you are woman enough
for the man that I am
and can respond if you chose
and without needing backup,
assistance or to reach back
or to reach for anything outside
of what is inside you

I have it all Obediah
when you'd get it
when I'd give it is the only issue
but you need not starve or thirst
in my life or with me in your life

I am not a girl and you need a woman
I am the woman
every bit a woman
all women rolled into one
when I'm on fire or when I am a snow ball
rolling down a hill or mountainside
gathering stream

I must confess, some one has warned me
beware when she turns upon you
to love you and to be loved

you had better prepare yourself
I hope you can take it
when she desires to satisfy you
and to be satisfied fully

you will need all the dick
you can unleash or unsheathe
you will need a stout heart

must admit
how we are connected even now
the affirmation accorded me
even now and I have difficulty breathing

my thought at times was
I'd think sometimes that

I fall in love with that girl
I'll need a woman on the side or in addition

Obediah what the fuck
you crazy or what
IB is one thing

what I can do to and for a man is another
what is your cup to fill with piss
our with whatever until it overflowed

God I still want to get her legs up
my lips horizontal, in contact with
and attempt to cover her vertical vulva lips

I want to lick her pussy, hear her purr
like a kitten, groan like a grown woman
like a woman in pain

with more sweetness
than she knew what to do with

sense how affectionate she is capable of being
does she still think though that our affair
is unnatural

my being 10 years older than Brenda
her being 10 years younger than Mia

is she still getting used to this idea
hope she does not wait until after I die
until I crop out to decide to accept us
our affair fully

hope she realizes
that what she deprives me of
or is incapable of
I have to live without

what she withholds from me
I have to thirst and hunger for
until she turns,
changes, decides to feed me

I'd eat only her, I'd eat no where else
unless we separated
unless we went our separate ways


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
8:27 p.m. 15.09.10

Belt too Tight
for D.B.A.

my God, girl, D’Anthra,
what care you have begun
to take of me

my girl is my woman
and what a big woman
good to me as a woman can be

she embraces me
with fleshy, firm arms

I feel safe in them
with her, in her care
in her love for me

my God, I complain
that she keeps from me
what she thinks
and what she feels

but the little
that she does confess
of what she feels

what she does allow me
to know directly
says or shows plainly
already overwhelms me

think of her declared
I love you and at present,
I am having trouble breathing

her love enfolds, encircles me
like a belt too tight

her love, becoming stronger
or am I getting fatter

in her clutches, in her embrace


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
11:54 p.m. 14.09.10

Earth Worms
for D.B.A.

she gives me Spanish nouns
and verbs and other words
as well as this new alphabet in song

hadn’t a clue she had so much
so many things- on so many levels
to offer, to feed me with

how much we share outside
as well as inside sex

how very many floors
has our relationship

how subtle the shades of love
we share

miracles in which we find ourselves
miracle that we are

able to resuscitate and to sustain
mutually

so out of touch, so out of reach
reach each other, touch each other
anyway

over the internet, over the phone
over the airwaves

reach each other also
through invisible powers
with invisible hands

like no one I’ve ever known

the life in me, delights in me
deep in her, deep in me

deeper daily into each other
as well as into the ocean love is

in love, the condom I wear, she wears
it outfit us perfectly, like wet suits

in love we enter the deep ocean of each others
life deeper and deeper, more and more

we wiggle like root hairs,
wiggle like earth worms at times,
to enter each other

go where no one before has gone
where no one before has been


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:37 a.m. 13.09.10

Intimate Avenues
for D.B.A.

what, should I ejaculate in you
without a condom on

fire off in you
and with baby or illness,
end your life, mine too

alter you and/or alter me
so severely, so drastically
for a moment sweet

sweet Dee, sweet dick inside you
though that would be heaven

such bareness, such bare contact
not a thing in this world between us

but such a course, to take it,
to choose it would alter all the courses
you are enrolled in, I am enrolled in

could we afford that
who could afford that
would it not be, could it not be
homicide as well
as suicide at once

though it would change the course
of human history
to have a baby of yours and mine
enter existence, enter this world

but not illegitimately
not out of time
but in time, in marriage
if such a miracle
were ever to come to pass

should I put my finger in you
stick my tongue in you
in the main time, to pass the time
somewhat divinely

stick tongue and fingers in you
from in front and in your behind

how about my cock
in your behind also
with condom or without
come in your behind

you’d fart automatically
blow it all out
or out it would come eventually

God, my darling
where are we gonna go or come

what are we gonna be
I can hardly wait to see


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
9:12 a.m. 13.09.10

Ingmar Bergman Buddies
for G.M.

look back I see
the times we were together

when, where, bare,
near, there in Cuba

our souls were bare
if our bodies were not
baring our souls
bare in our souls

every occasion or nearly everyone
comes back
when we were attached
why was that

like someone, lost, found
refusing then to separate

dine together, swim together
lie together, sit together

we'd be together
not wanting to be apart
except for that day or part of one
when I did not see her

when I did, she told me
of an eye infection
showed me what remained of it

told me of her visit to hospital
of medicine prescribed
eye drops to get the red out
to get whatever else out

to clear up
what made looking cloudy
seeing difficult

remember that day without her
remember how I missed her

looked about as we went about
my eyes asking, my heart
if not heavy, not as light
and not as quick as when
she’d turn and call,
"Obi!" and beckon
for me to catch up, come along

insisting that I join her, insisting that
we not come apart, not ever again

not after being apart all our lives

on this planet, who planned it
that we'd not know each other
until then, until now

Ingmar Bergman's movies
along with English she knew
were our bridges

by these we crossed
and re-crossed and still cross

without intending to disconnect
ever again in this life

however much or however little
of it left in the cup I was given
over half-a-century ago
to drink up, to drink from

in it, I've come upon
who's honey-sweet
to know, to keep me
to cause me to love life
like I never had
or never could
until I am fearing
that I'm ill
that I might die

not as healthy as I was at 21
feeling I was as immortal
as a Greek god

mortality fills my nostrils
when I fart


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:52 p.m. 12.09.10

Waffles
for D.B.A.

i.
she makes my bodily fluids flow
my eyes moist or my dick head a mess

tears fall or salivation of one sort
or from one source or another
accumulate or overflow

what of her ability to affect me on such a level
to connect and to activate what is automatic
what is beyond reach

out of reach and she can, with woman power
with yearning for her or with my love for her
or hers for me

start new rivers flowing, running down
the sides of mountains

what others witness and know not the genesis of
behold the results of

what she in secret- in private triggers off
keeps going

in addition to tears and other fluids
she makes flow nonstop from me
and possibly to an even greater degree
all the poems of her I write

as if the pens I picked up were all leaking
or as if an ordinary ball point pen
were a fountain pen

as if a pen were not a pen but a fountain

ii.
unusual that she'd call
and I'd be unavailable

twice today she called
and I was not available

could get the impression that-
could give the impression that

familiarity has begun to breed contempt
has caused me to begin
to take her for granted

instead of a couple on honeymoon still
we've begun to be- by degrees
begun to show signs of being
an old married couple

which would not do
with a girl with whom
I intend to be honeymooning
until doomsday, until death do us part

here in the food store shopping
we are not parted
she has my hearts still,
in my heart still

want her to know I shall never
not ever not have time for her

however important
I become or she becomes
whoever screens my calls
would have to know
to put her through

no barriers or partitions between us ever,
my pledge to her, my commitment to us
until time ends

Lord, for more and more resources,
in addition to time, to share with her
to keep us well,
to keep us with

iii.
as mine as she is becoming
I am wishing that I had
a new house to put her in
a new body to put in her
to push in her

what of the bag into which
an ancestor or two of mine
were pushed when captured

how many before were pushed in too
and how many after

how many was a bag used for
before it was in rags, in shreds

men and women of Africa
striking and kicking, fighting back
to regain contact, to remain in touch
with freedom

want to be somebody for my baby
someone with means
like I have never had
someone with income, someone secure

why I have never caused
money in abundance to flow my way
I know not

but oh God, with Dee in my life
I certainly do wish it would happen now

wish it would happen entirely legally
entirely legitimately

income, a lot of money
not this embarrassing, soul sapping
pulling teeth that it usually is

for a change of fortune I pray
I beg thee, Holy Father, Holy Lord
in the name of Christ
Amen

iv.
honey honey
honey cunny
sunny cunny

oh my honey
oh my honey cunny
my sunny cunny honey

cunny dripping, oozing honey

honey comb
for my cunny
for my honey

any money- any price-
any payment
for my honey-
for sweet sweet cunny
in a jar or in a hive

my honey cunny dripping
cunny enough to sweeten tea
outpour over wafffles
of a whole town
having breakfast

but honey's mine
her cunny's mine
to break apart, in two, to break into

break my heart in two
I care little, not at all

must get my face in
fingers, lips in, fingertips in

get to take a bath, a dip
have a dish of, have to dish up

now and then, a dash of honey
of my honey's cunny
when on the run and without time

to be buried like a bee
die like a bee in what
is deep and sweet and worth
passing away for
passing away in


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 2:30 p.m. Saturday,
September 11 and 3:41 p.m. Sunday,
September 12, 2010

Two Goodbyes
for D.B.A.

unfold her soul in the poems I write of her
and fold it again

my soul too, folded up, folded in with hers
in the folds of these poems

what a struggle it must be to be a student
a poet and in love with me

the energy these require, must take, must sap
she unable to remain awake up until midnight

up since early morning, 7 or 8
I get to wake up, go back to bed whenever I choose
got out of bed sometime at night, not long ago

when hungry eat; when tired sleep
are the rules of Zen which are as well
what nature requires

what different clocks my baby and I are on
my God, we are having an affair, without a doubt
like none I have ever known or ever imagined

what a moment a minute ago was
I'd been holding on while she slept
and just at midnight, after calling her name
a time or two, calling out to her and getting no response
I decided to ring off finally, after about 15 minutes

enjoyed listening to the soft music of her inhalation
exhalation

she shifted about and then I could hear only
the noise the fan made--that was impersonal
we were with that, less attached
pained me anyway to hang up, to detach

it was midnight exactly when I rang off
a minute after, 12:01, she called back

"You hang up?" she asked and I felt
I had been disloyal to her, to us

"I could no longer hear you breathe!" I said
sighing, loving her

she on the other end, sighing also
"I'm going to bed," she said, "bye!" she added

how it broke my heart that we were about to be
and then that we were actually, cut off

this poem to connect us, to bridge what seemed
an equally painful gap for her and me

sleep as well dividing us
sleep a friendly divide though
like a friendly ghost, like Casper
whom I wonder now if she knew or if she knows

this relationship of ours
is going where it had not ever been
taking her and taking me to places in life
and in our hearts never before visited

this is nothing ordinary,
what is happening between us
I should have known something was afoot
about to transpire that evening she showed up
at the end of Walcott's lecture/recital
in the big-new, brand-new theatre at COB

it seemed I was more significant to her than he was
she was too late to see and to hear him
but she was told that I was there
she'd left and she returned, insisting upon our encounter

look about her, way she behaved
I attempted to avoid confronting or owning

"I have to go now," she said finally
her going was an undesirable extraction
and when she turned to go, I bathed her behind
with my eyes and sighed

never knew though that we'd have ended up
in such deep waters, in the ocean of love

we'll end up in Venice in a gondola, just her and me
and the man who'd row us to our destination

there we'd- where we'd honeymoon
though every day we share even now
is as sweet as honeymoon

Woody Allen and Soon-Yi, I cannot help recalling
I shall have to share with her
Woody Allen's "Wild Man Blues"


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
12:31 a.m. 11.09.10

Nefertiti in the Nile
for D.B.A.

we open up any can of any shit
to savor it, to check it out, to examine it
she nor I turn off- turned off easily

screw on can opener, we turn and turn
until the top of can of that- of this- of the next
is free and floats atop whatever is inside

dog food, cat food
peaches, beets, mixed vegetable
whole kernel corn, artichokes, heart of palms

asparagus, whole pears or sliced
tuna fish, mackerel, pink or red salmon
Campbell soup or some other soup

then there are those things in jars
with covers to screw off
and with knife or spoon, dip in

how many covers or lids has she or have I
to undo, screw off, every time we meet
at every encounter

oh, when she herself removes her lid
like early this morning

runs water, gets into the bath
I as if in the bathroom, in the bathtub with her
having to- called to hear and see

God how I could feel her in the room
in her bath water, naked, without a stitch
wish I were the bar of soap between her legs

what between us- just the phone connecting us
with her from she got in until she got out
until she said goodbye

sighing each syllable, tender as can be
as harshly hitting hearts can be made to be
when love is thrown in, when love is added

God how we wrestle, argue, fuss, fight, make up
as complex- as much of a tangle
as weather in the tropics

windy, rainy, sunny, stormy, all in one afternoon
how deep in the night we often end up, she and I

not knowing where we left our lids
or how we got them off or where we threw them

volatile, she or I, or she and I
like caps of dynamite, will blow our top or tops
or snow might fall


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
2:22 p.m. 10.09.10

Cancan
for D.B.A.

i.
In Bed

loose out your pussy
it plait too tight

let it fall like water falls
like a waterfall
like a squall of rain

up tight pussy
with me outside
with me shut out

want it tight about
my erect dick
about what's on my mind

talk to you vulgar
because of love

garish colors
to paint your pussy
to paint your portrait
to paint you when
you dance the cancan

when you kick up your legs
when your skirt makes whirls
makes waves

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec
with his eye for motion
his appetite for night life
with his quick hands

when last have you danced for me
wife of mine, woman I love
girl I dream of, dreamed of

now in my ink pen
want to wear
your knickers to Mass
want to buy you underwear

want no one
in the intimacy we share

why should you or I
give anyone ideas

why should I give my ideas away
to who, already, in so many ways

has the upper hand
get to see you, I seldom do

pen in my hand
my relationship with it
and I think of M.C. Escher
drawing of a hand drawing a hand

get to make your pussy juicy
I do not get to drink it
to put it to my head

do not get to have it for supper
wonder what my priest thinks
of my erotic poems

does she turn the page quickly
does she slam the book shut
with you and me in it

does she pray for us

ii.
In Church

he is mine now to take care of
to care for me

we've been left to
and we've been given to each other

gifts we accept like plants to water
to keep alive
like puppies to care for

if we don't, who will
who'd know exactly
how to handle
such a special horse
such an expensive horse

such a priceless jewel
to preserve, to polish
and to keep polished

like the poems he out pores
like those I out pour as well

he is mine now
to love and to care for
however difficult he gets

mine to keep happy
to keep from being unhappy

how we wrestle and row
but how we love one another
how we laugh together

cuss though we might
from time to time

but we are learning each other
learning to love
and to live with each other

to give and to take
to push and to pull

we exhale, we inhale each other
I am the air he breathes
he is the air I breathe

live to keep each other
alive and fresh and free

I transform him
he transforms me


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
Written between 8:30 a.m.
and 2:13 p.m. on Thursday,
September 9, 2010

Beating Hearts
for M.V.

Gad, she is so gorgeous
Manuela Valencia

with her butterfly earrings
with her dimple in her chin

what if her arms are skinny
what if her breasts are small

want it all, love it all
friend of every bit of her

in every breath of hers, of mine
our friendship

by our breathing
by our beating hearts, are we joined

cross space and time
scorch space and time

sign for love
agreement we made
evening we met
that noonday we parted

her heart pounding
as persistently as my own


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2010
1:55 p.m. 08.09.10