More than music
She was
(in a manner of speaking)
my first sexual partner
which has, I suppose, no particular merit
(in and of itself)
except
that I would have
(and did)
give up my life
for a wink of her eye
or a gracious invitation
a charming sweet laugh
to hold her sweet hand
or even just to go for a walk
I was so much in what I called love
(what you might call need)
what anybody might call anything they wanted to
and they probably did
Worshipping her every eccentricity
I promised to never trust another
(somewhat)
attractive girl ever again
It hurt so much
to be me in those moments
when I was completely alone
playing a game it seemed like
everybody else
knew the rules
The ecstasy of having finally made it inside a vagina
was liable to leave me gleeful
But then half crazy (I probably wasn't)
but so off my own rails that all I did was cry
and scream and cry
and SCREAM and cry
And lie and lie about and swear on my heart to get even
nothing could save me from my mechanisms
fluids flowing
puss pumping
sperm squirting
hung up sweaty and spotty by my throbbing penis
She might have been so sensitive and sensible
and was it adult?
(I don't know)
that I could not see she had
(perhaps or perhaps not calculatingly)
killed me off
starting when you might reasonably
think it should have finished
But no doubt having some or other need of her own
(never-the-less involving my suffering)
I suppose I (must) forgive her
(Shush! Say it very very quietly.)
I loved her ...
More than music
more than dignity
more than spaghetti hoops
more than tongues licking
and hands holding
and eyes staring
and I did not ever stop.
(She said I was "too complicated".)
Poetry by Andrew Bindon
Read 558 times
Written on 2009-12-24 at 13:55
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