“… [bargaining] chips …”

I do have my price.  Did you wish to prove me wrong?

My price I knew all along, and all along I knew it wrong.

My price was a person, and people are free: people form

no part of a deadly algo

rhythmic case of presentationally framed

loves,

wasted and lost.

And I lost out to this love the days I refused to leave

who I was with

and understand better your entrega:

understand that what you’d offered me was real, not

faking hurting me: was you yourself, your opening up: the

glance of bushy sex on ass; the candles lit around the

bath: the memories real and in their making too, as love began

to hurt me so.

“You beat me then!” a being like me of tawdry intelligence

might say.  But it wasn’t you who beat me then: it was me,

unable to see the beauty that was you: the freedom you had

offered me just by loving me.

And now things have changed: changed as they must:

the algo

rhythmic presentational case of poetry formally structured

as this is done and structured and built –

for even freeform work constricts like

slith-

e-

ring

boa –

does not excuse me for the errors I committed.

 

Nevertheless, there is one thing I hold onto now,

one thing even now,

even now as I speak:

if love might be real, and forgiving and gentle;

if love might be true, and permanent and went all around

the blocks of childlike youth; round the wonder you produce

in me; round the kindness that your mouth upon mine

still reminds me of my reaching home, a-

gain as I do and a-

gain as I do and a-

gain as I do and a-

gain; round the lips that I tugged at with careful teasing

teeth; round the tongue whose touch and taste was fresh as

any cream awaiting any strawberry single (though the only

single I want is the single you now are); and your deep wet

sex: you touched me so with your deep wet sex;

I have never been touched by anyone

else; by any deep wet sex like yours.

No, it was never madness; neither of us is ill; whatever they say

I would love more than anything to meet you to prove this

fact to your soul:

to prove that your self is as good as my self, and what we truly

really are when together and whole

is GENIUS UNBOUND, when together as one: never the

chemical opinion of

chemical formulation: no crude bargaining chips our

lives any more; just the love we once expressed which would

make both our selves

as happy and well and belovéd and swell,

and glancing our eyes off the skin of the other, and like

amazingly surreal petrol pumps of human expression, filling to

the top

a house with the joy of

life’s pleasure and leisure and humour and

lightness and whiteness and homeliness and kindliness – and then sex! 

Interrupting like naughty sibling in the reverie of norms,

and suddenly releasing from

long misery I’ve known all this time the treasure of holding you close to my chest:

and never letting go;

never letting be;

never letting you believe we are anything but

… right proper

happy …

… lovers for

ever!!!

 

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