(Poem #136)Love: Beginnings They're at that stage where so much desire streams between them, so much frank need and want, so much absorption in the other and the self and the self-admiring entity and unity they make— her mouth so full, breast so lifted, head thrown back so far in her laughter at his laughter he so solid, planted, oaky, firm, so resonantly factual in the headiness of being craved so, she almost wreathed upon him as they intertwine again, touch again, cheek, lip, shoulder, brow, every glance moving toward the sexual, every glance away soaring back in flame into the sexual— that just to watch them is to feel again that hitching in the groin, that filling of the heart, the old, sore heart, the battered, foundered, faithful heart, snorting again, stamping in its stall. |
Love: Beginnings -- C K Williams
Crusoe -- George Bilgere
(Poem #135)Crusoe When you've been away from it long enough, You begin to forget the country Of couples, with all its strange customs And mysterious ways. Those two Over there, for instance: late thirties, Attractive and well-dressed, reading At the table, drinking some complicated Coffee drink. They haven't spoken Or even looked at each other in thirty minutes, But the big toe of her right foot, naked In its sandal, sometimes grazes The naked ankle bone of his left foot, The faintest signal, a line thrown Between two vessels as they cruise Through this hour, this vacation, this life, Through the thick novels they're reading, Her toe saying to his ankle, Here's to the whole improbable story Of our meeting, of our life together And the oceanic richness Of our mingled narrative With its complex past, with its hurts And secret jokes, its dark closets And delightful sexual quirks, Its occasional doldrums, its vast Future we have already peopled With children. How safe we are Compared to that man sitting across the room, Marooned with his drink And yellow notebook, trying to write A way off his little island. |