blog of poet, leah umansky

The Australian Came Into My Life and He Would Not Kiss Me

I was in the know.  Chewing the pulp.   An excuse to imagine –  so, I imagined. Self-prescribed.  There was no alternate.  I felt sorry for the pursuit; but nailed it. There were two voices: one surreal; one steadfast.

[If not now; when?]

There’d be no pretending.  Nothing should be hard and fast.  He tidied it up. Made coffee; gazed; danced; touched.  It became creamy and whole; whole and creamy. Songs were sung. Bottoms were wagged.  Re-defined.

yes       ….       but                   yes       ….       but                   yes,

yes, we confirmed edges and crossed currents. What kind will this be? Be kind to me. Be kind to me, be kind to me. Hands climbing in hair; hands lost; hands lost;  hands don’t lie.

[do they?]  But, to be glib:  someone could die.                                   In the earliest evening,

the earliest morn; one understands the being

::let history in::

and, we did and we swam messily around the honking; around the light-spread; around the breath, around the humming, and lounged-in it; all to see the comfortable.

[do you really feel this?]

All to say: my sweet. It is sweet. It is sweetest; It is sweeter                                now, tasted.

© Umansky 2011