Trinidad

Her glass was here, a Cuba libre,
Sweating on the table's glass,
The way this gin and tonic sweats,
And we would sweat, between the
Sheets, upstairs, some forty years
Ago. We didn't last; not unexpected.
Fires so intense are apt to burn out
Quickly, so I'm told, and I am told,
And do believe, that embers ebb
As decades pass. I'm here alone,
Without a lover, one more dull
And flabby man, who walks the
Beach and orders in, and wonders
Whether he will spiral into love,
As he once did, as June bugs spiral
Into lights, or if he's now too old
For that, and shouldn't have gone
Into debt to have his cocktail here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2013-05-30 at 00:58

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text