{iii} go fuck yourself:
couldn’t pick
the dead dove from
between my teeth
fast enough
when you crooked
your long fingers
beneath my ribs;
a timeless
come hither
{ii} too good to be true ~
knitted together,
my joints knotted
in prayer,
i wish
the rust would
flake
from between my knuckles
when i
come [to you]
birthing my entrails
{i} alone with you ~
exhaling
the pressure of
being
of taking a
breath
in that space
which took
more than it gave;
[you]
[him]
amid sheets carrying
the sweat
of my self-worth
Wow did you catch him in the act? This is an interesting poem. Welcome to Stars Rite
Hoi hoi Shadoe,
Yesterday, on the date of birth of Johan Cruyff (the footballer), everyone named Johan, Johanna, or Johannes, was entitled to a free guided tour through the Johan Cruyff Arena in Amsterdam. Some 1.700 Johans showed up for the event.
I was born in Amsterdam, like Johan and I used to know him. Like every other Amsterdammer knew their heroes.
This is a/my reality.
FIA, loved by all StarsRiters, seems to read you’ve caught him in the act.
I have read this poem in an almost abstract way. As a series of alternative storylines.
Or maybe you’ve written that you’ve caught him after all and I didn’t get it due to insufficient understanding of the English language. Very plausible.
Whatever may be true, a poem which has the possibility for different interpretations is a winner to me.
Welcome!
Kind regards, Gus