Suddenly friendship and biz,

together in package,

seem attractive enough by themselves.

Only, really I want more: I don’t

want to end days, consumed by the thoughts

of what might have been.

So if this is all you can offer,

let me tell you I treasure your person for always –

and yet, simultaneously, see and say and think

the love I madly feel for you must

sink my desires away, from this being towards

one woman who wishes to be my love:

one woman out there or other.

And one other there and out.

And one there out and other.

For I did fall that crazily in love with

your person, and the idea you gave me of what

you might be.

And I did fall quite truly, and even

now give up all – but no longer

sacrificial-like (as if Facebook-torn).

So if we can work in friendship

and biz, let biz and friendship triumph where

love would’ve been mad.

And then I shall know that some

other place and some other person is the future

I must search.

As if Googling my future was

the future I held in the palm of my sex and the

hope of my mind.

And yes, as previously unconscious

aut[h]o[r]-ethnographer, as such practitioner I might say I am,

I have hurt the memories that others held dear.

But those memories also served

to contain my real self in bonds of cruel

limitings and strappings of scenes

some replayed and replayed to

service their souls and their hearts and their

cruelties, unthought – and untold

(though not to my perceptions!), and then those

gold sentiments and desires for a future where

love itself was my fate.

For always far too late to the

playing-field of youth has the old man inside

me approached those around.

So now I do wish to recover my being

and live with this woman who has courted my

role and has shaped my whole completely, and

has still – even – to offer her beautiful hole to the

man I now must surely become: I now must surely

resound: I now must surely – finally – complete: tested

and street-wisely strong as a bough of the

bravely genuflecting lover who de-

clares his final bet.

So if nothing is to be, it is your

choice not mine.  And if friendship is on the

table, it is your choice and mine.

And if friendship and biz can inter-


wine and dine their selves in pleasurable places

of grandiloquent measure, then the

choice will most certainly pleasure us both in

evenings of eyes and chin-chins finely struck.

But if by any chance, you

wanted far more than that, just remember

I will always passionfully love

you, at the altar not of service, nor

peculiar bat, but – rather – far

more wildly the reality that no whys, nor

wise, nor ways, nor raise nor rise

nor sighs need any more be asked,

when simply I find it easy to contemplate

your beauty:

I love you




I do.


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