Buddy
from Flight of An Exocet
though we were never lovers
your body shook against
my dry lips your blond hair wet
as if you came
from a cold shower
shivering beneath the thgin sheet
your body hot

the sound of the typewriter
downstairs pecks against
the opaque
silence
in your room

as I lay next to you
our bodies covered with your sweat
upon white hospital sheets
that we borrowed from
the community centre

I feel your feet
as the protrude from underneath
the rumpled sheet
they are swollen
like your penis
sometimes outlined through your jeans
when you were full of life
now, your breathing comes in rasps

our minds filled with
still photographs
from our pasts
trying to remember
fishing on roaring, white rivers
dancing in black-neon strobbed discoes

our founded friendship fluttered
through our separate thoughts
connecting,
the white wine we never drank together
nevertheless tasted bad

our souls flew at one another
bounced off
became one
slide underneath your bedroom door

the typewriter downstairs
constinues to peck away
a life
in black and white

do you dream in color?
is it like a motion picuture?
all i see is
stilled black and white photographs
images of incidents
barely touching the outer edges

Do not go into that goood night
Rage, rage against the dying of the light*


outside
the sun hides behind the moon
causing the summer's blue night
to turn black
like your eyes turn
as I continue to caress
your wet blond hair
my other hand
traces the youth of your skin
rests upon a skeletton chest

time has come
when the words
between the beginning
and the end
pass in your eyes
like an eclispe

our short friendship
is a fragment
of our lives
there are no black
and white photgraphs
no motion pictures
to guard all our memories

as I feel the last
shake from your body
against my dry lips
your blond hair
tangled and knotted
from the wetness
while your body cools

the eclispe changes
to a stream of rain
as it forms a river
against the pane of glass
as I lay beside you
though we were never lovers

the typewriterdownstairs
ceases
pecking out a life

C:/  Gregg Rowe, 1986
Connections

*
Dylan Thomas, 
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
greggrowe2000@yahoo.com