how to take the love that is anothers
how cruel i would be to allow myself this pleasure of ego
but how my ego loves a challenge
and how the other does not deserve this love
which belongs so rightfully to my ego
so rightfully mine
i remember love as i remember the morning
just the way i started many days
and like sleep i fell into love when i left the day behind
and now alone i sit and write
but the days still start
like the days when i wake
the night still comes as softly when i lay alone
and let sleep once again take me away
and when i wake and remember love
i will still be in love
even though now alone
as love is my own and in it i am happy
just as i am happy in myself
with just me and me alone
young thin love in his black tee with sleeves cut off
skinny white french girl with too much wine for the frail skeleton of her heart
his eyes glaze and a constant smile almost shuts his eyes
she speaks louder now and no one really listening understands
the one thing that is seen and heard clearly from both
is the mounting tension
and the escape that is his drink from the blades that are her words
i watch these two lovers
i listen to these two friends
and thank forever and even more for not allowing myself this
as i smile and sip at my gin
peacefully alone
happily my only critic
rain from the rafters
in the presence of buckwheat
love and passion
love in a white dress
and straw in our hair
the most unnatural summer morn
spent in the arms of a ghost
some hours of existing presence
in memories treasured most
oh you bastard fruit flies in the kitchen
oh how you bastards have ruined the vermouth
three of you little bastards lay drunk around the cherry in my manhattan
and one of you dies between my teeth
you little bastards of summer
long the afternoon sweats
an orange haze
so slowly the sun sets
shirts stick to youthful skin
like the heat to buildings
in the grey city of summer sin
the cultivator of dead plants
and the painter of your naked body
a portrait of the artist as a lover
zebrasindenver 