Childhood
Poem
Amanda
and I deep in conversation
beneath the shadows of the tallest pine
trading
Kiss cards
sharing our gum
the
lunch hour stretching out
forever
her
hand holding mine
willing to show me something
I’d
never seen before
her little girl vagina
a
school-yard fantasy
when all I really wanted
was
another Gene Simmons
Swelter
today
maybe
the breeze will whisper
an apology
through the curtains
bringing with it a coolness
to hyphenate the tension
the
ups and downs of life
have been steep
beyond compare
the
torrid swelter
of each new day
descends on me
with a cruel unknown hope
it
comes silently
softly
and
like a bird
flying into the heart of the sun
I make myself disappear
a
handful of sky
to carry me
out of reach
Forecast
what
we share is history
there are no seasons of desire
despite
the sun’s gentle heat
& the wind’s whisper of spring
we
have grown old
but not like fine wine
it’s
the same as any habit
everything you like tries to kill you
&
wouldn’t you like that
it would almost be poetry
holding
me down
& baring your teeth
asking
me those questions
that have surely turned to rust
until
I tell you
we are like the sky
empty
of ideas
without blood without air
&
that maybe you were right
I never loved you more than the weather
The
Idea of Orgasms
why
do we lie like this?
small
talk
ebbing
flowing
ebbing
flowing
struggling
through
varicose silences
all content and
no form
infantile
words
shamelessly
thrown together
not
like
the idea
of orgasms
they
are
LOUD!
Graham
Nunn
©
Graham Nunn 2006
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