![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
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 |