Intimacy Still Able to Spill
for D.B.A.

1
do you close as tight as this container
made of plastic, you brought me salad in
this is not for you, you said, this is for us two

how was such a visit, such an event ruined
we just came apart like hands in hell
dismantling us, dismantling love

how though could hell have had the upper hand
or seem to have had
while heaven was matching us up so well

a match though that you yourself resist
not wanting us to be lovers but to be friends

but though we do not- have not yet
gotten into bed, we do, without end, copulate
on levels she herself is shy of

so there is heaven and its intentions
hell with its intentions and her and me
on earth, coming together and coming apart
as we have been, as we often are

oh about this salad container
with its black bottom, with its clear, plastic top
rescued from a plastic, garbage bag
from a doorknob, hanging

washed it up to preserve memory in
I had had half of a tomato in it, in the refrigerator

amazed, just now, to find how tight it closes
thought of you and of your nature
about which I know nothing
intimate as we are

2
at least it was her with her stormy face
with whom I went, in whom I came
and not some other female

thought I was past her, over her,
done with her, only to find no one
this morning, able to arouse me
to the degree that she could or was able to

surprise to find such intense stimulation
what I thought had passed, back again
or never left

my love for her, her love for me, lurking,
lingering

all her outfits, pictures in tight shorts,
in short dress
in some outfits, in some shots,
a lot of breast exposed

she stimulates me or did this morning
like no one could,
like no other pictures observed

calling out her name, kissing her pussy
kissing moist lips on my computer screen

carried away like that/like this
carried away I was, like rediscovering her

absence and it seems
my heart has grown fonder

hard-on, hard and long, lasted long
lasted until I ejaculated

dish washing liquid, Pine-Sol and rag,
which was once an underpants,
to clean what I came, up off the carpet

up when I should have been
sleeping, napping,
with all that I have
upon my plate to accomplish

3
we are nothing now
we were something once

how did it come to this
come down to this

from what we had
from where we were

how did we- why did we-
when and where did we disconnect

she cannot be happy or complete
with me so empty

when did I decide to divide
decide that she was so imperfect
when did she decide that I wouldn't do

when we were perfect, we were unaware
hindsight and I'm hollering, howling
in pain, unable to bear
how detached
we've become

how reckless we are
with what we are or were
with what we have or had

would smash without a second thought
what we expect to maintain whole


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2011
Written between 11:15 p.m., on Sunday,
April 17 and 2:04 a.m., on Monday,
April 25, 2011