Wednesday, April 20, 2011

No Lovers

amontillado sherry
she said
won't upset the feeble equilibrium
suspending my body in limbo

we have a common friend
she let me know by way of a toast
she told me about you
that you have in younger years
steered shy of defloration
and that you still if you can help it
are overwhelmingly reluctant
the penetrate where none ever
went before you

she kissed me then
her mouth cold and tasting
of amontillado sherry
her tongue the texture
of slurred speech

see me home she urged me
you will be in no danger
of a first
I am dying - oh not painfully
or anything but dying
all the same

most likely our encounter
our first
will be our last
my own last fling

when I left her bed and dressed
and made to leave
she did not turn her head
to see me through the door
told me her name and goodbye

the following month I read
her obituary
no flowers
no speeches

and between the lines
no lovers

--Levi Wagenmaker (1944 - ) is a retired journalist, living in the Netherlands for most of the year, and in France for some of it, with two bitches, one of whom is a dog, and lately, with another young canine male.  Enamoured life-long with language (and languages), for reasons immaterial to the act he writes poetry in English only, even if he could most likely manage it in a few other tongues.  His poems have been published on line more than in print, and Google will tell the curious what, where, and when.

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