Hug buddy

another couple’s caress
is a “love is a dove from above” poem,
reserved in a library,
checking itself out it scribbles in the margin
-tly the lights fade,
the librarian says “We’re closing,”
my eyes bring no catalog of goddesses, but the book-next-store
to need me and feel me,
up to no good
-nested in this contrived world trying,
not to envision prostitutes
carrying on conversations about
Myers-Briggs, MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour
by hour, do I need a pay
“meant to be?” she asks when the long
walk ends the girlfriends
gather eyes tell it all,
“he said we weren’t dating.”

Parenthetical thoughts of the future

having everything except the thing wanted the most,
(when we meet we won’t deserve each other
couldn’t have it any other way)
veneer paneling doesn’t splitter your skin, you say,
hiding away, some crevice, somewhere dark–
waiting in passive beauty only the living (are beautiful, you know?)
daily strive, ah, the alive, falling and failing,

and getting back up again,

haven’t met you, maybe I have but no doubt I will have–before we meet
because you are no ideal, no goddess (I know)
wouldn’t want one (for keeps),
so in love with our destitution (are you, too?)
–
we should still strive, reach each other,
or I’ll give up before beginning,
sitting here like you today.