
regurgitated bits of
long masticated memories
your every imperfection
stained
sweet upon my lips
drunk on dis-stilled spirits
the tang of demons
on my tongue
by my own breathe
I am left inebriate
as we, I sup upon.
Barry, a fellow poet and otherworldly kindred spirit, has written a poem entitled, Not Like That, But Deeper Still that wrenched from me such emotion I could answer it only with poetry.
Though I find the culmination of these words sorely lacking, I dare not devote anymore time to these memories for surely to do so would be my downfall…
Touchè..
Oh my. This is really good. A fine answer to my poem. I’m humbled that you were moved by my words to create this. The pangs of longing are deeply felt.
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I am a woman upon whose rocky shores many an adrift man has found respite, but in only one did I find love. Your words caused me to to feast on the fermented leavings of a love much more grandiose in memory than it ever was in life. But sup I did..
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I have prying questions that I’m dying to ask that I dare not ask. I’m just glad that you shared this much. 🙂
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I’m seeing an unwritten story here, excellently penned to be a poem. 🙂
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It is in fact what is left of a story now greatly embellished by time.
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Ah-ha. I think I understand. And have you slept at all?
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I have. In fact I’m already at work. I start at 430.
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Gosh. But then I get up around 5:00 am, just cos I like life that early. But it means I do go to bed early. You know, how valuable those hours before midnight. Only trouble…
Early to bed, early to rise, makes for a life without any guys…. unless he’s a postman or milkman or similar
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I go to bed at like 6 and get up about midnight….
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Wow, all those beneficial hours before midnight! 🙂
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Beautifully written poem.
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This is wonderful, Violet. Those first 2 lines really drew me in. Of course, we want more of the story…
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Seriously amazing.
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You are too kind.
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