When You Kiss Me

When you kiss me,
yes, it’s luscious, succulent, sensual,
calming, inspiring, breathtaking.
But what I haven’t said
is that when you kiss me
I can see that kiss on my or your
deathbed,
if we get that chance.
It seems to fit there.
And I’ve never felt or seen
anyone’s kiss in that manner.
So I’m not sure exactly what to call it
when I feel that when we kiss.
I guess that’s what I’ll call this poem.
I’ve never known love where
I could or wanted to see
myself or the other person
in elderly life or terminally ill,
but for some reason I have with you.
I don’t know why, I just have.
I mean, I know why I never experienced
this before.
It is, or was, called fear of love.
But I don’t know why now,
I’m experiencing it with you.
Maybe you know?

Yes, Different Places Together

Make us separate at dawn,
again your skin tone has turned
to the sunset’s wheat.
We are dried goods on different ships
… I’ll admit
my crew would trade me for you.

Fall with the sea-spray
on the sand of your back.
My mud has hardened
for the tractors to crush underneath
the chores
of a construction worker’s morning.
They are building another
award-winning hotel
for you to sleep in —
your affairs with the sundown.

You, in a grown woman’s body,
have forgotten the nursery rhymes
of your father,
but an older father blessed you
with lips of grapes and beliefs of vine,
so I watch you
give foliage to rocks,
to un-named planets,
so these stars above lose their names
in the death of naive civilizations.

Cassiopeia spilled her secrets
to the bureaucrats of God and the
scientists at Bell Labs
… so as they did in another galaxy,
they will do us in.

Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.
Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human
manners.
But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Humble,Humble Love thumbnail image
Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)

Appointment With Directors

Chase the hills in Mexico,

followed the tones of your skin into shadows,

by the morning the sun was there

all eyes were open
and the beaches bartered eternity,

I reached for a tortilla.

The moss and mold hid, then fell apart
underneath
the eyes of the onward looking directors of Universe.

Afternoon cascaded down your legs
dribble dribble
and my head feels so good,
I smell the old plants,

let me eat the oranges in a still room,
god damn, I am an old man.

 

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Alien Heads, The Candy

Alien heads,
oh alien heads
laid in bed
looking at a planet
they’ve
come from
so very far away
I laid with
a woman with
an alien head,

the shape of a
suburban housewife’s bob,

the genetic memories
where she came from,

across our
luscious cells.

We stare at the window
blinds
where there is some form
of day
and leftover red
radiated Martian air
that’s out there.

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

My Love In Aegean

Her eyes
are the fish of the sea
I remember on afternoons
when the sun
in its highest point
penetrated
down
to the rocks and blue.

Her skin
is the horizon of houses
I come over the hills of
Marathon
to see their white plaster by
green cedars
wavering in
Boreas and Zephyr’s daydreaming.

Her home
is the hand and the valley shaped
figure
I’ve grown and dreamed towards
but
never touched,
turning to the wood of the
dresser instead
to save a warm splinter of
sunlight,

to go on breathing deep breaths
as
I age.

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

The Bronzed Hills Near Marathon

You carve me in the ledges of your back,
I am hiding in the bronzed hills near Marathon.
It will be a long walk back to the metropolis,
that descension towards the lower lands,
scattering the hairs of dusk,
leading to good-byes across the Aegean.
Farewell ancestors of yesterday,
today I love for you, King Minos.
I will watch blue layers unfold below and above me.
I will drop my Adam’s apple.
I will thirst.

When I see you next,
I will carve your breasts
at a banquet held midday.
Fruit in our love life drips
and I wash you with it
and drink the washings.

In the silence of a white plaster room,
white lighted by sunshine and vaporous breathing,
a dance of zygote dissipates.
The age of gods and goddesses is born, lived,
and died.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
lovers of the century thumbnail image Lovers Of The Century (poetry book)

Above Calypso’s Sea

There was an island here
that held my carnal desires.

When shadows showed
on the cavern walls
from the fire
I ate them.
I fucked them.

Tumbling into the night.
Twisting close to stars.
Not quite celestial.
Not earthen.
Not there in one way
or another.

Between happiness,
long forseen in the world
of the future,
allured and drunk.

But the old winds came,
brought a priestess
to take me to the coasts of the humans,
so I could see
their achievements and failings,
their temples and refuse,
then
I could see myself
in the words I’ve written and others
who write in me
at the wooden table
in the daylight and the midnight
that
completes the verse of the wave . . .

the one, one wave.

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Girl Raised On Olive Oil

I’m
hooking up
with a girl
raised on
olive oil.
She asked me
if the stones
at her feet
I had cast.

She
must
mistake me
for a
civil engineer
of the Roman Army,
but
I prefer
to remain
shy.
I was never proud
of my
conquering heritage.

Who cast
the obsidian
of her pupils?
I am
proud
of them.

Who poured
the water
that sweats
from her feet?

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
lovers of the century thumbnail image Lovers Of The Century (poetry book)