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Sunday, July 11, 2010

2 Poem #1 On the tip of my tongue - Michael O'Leary

On the tip of my tongue

Another attempt at love
Has left me far away
Away from her
And away from myself
The melancholy of failure
Lies like an aftertaste . . .

Just beyond the reaches
Of my taste buds and tongue
The smell of peaches
Bursting open in the sun

The surge and scent so strong
Beginning as a ripple
The milk and honey song
Springing from her nipple

The hope and then the loss
Ideal then reality
Love is like a cross
To carry for eternity

On that crucifix is offered
The false water of life
For that which is proffered
Is like a liquid knife

Which rather than quenching
The thirst of the dying person
Only succeeds in wrenching
Moisture from the mouth and worsen

The craving . . . Oh well, what the fuck!
Next time it will be better . . .

‘She’s funny
Wants my money
Calls me honey
Her name is . . .’ – the rhyme, its on the tip of my tongue, and
She laughs when I sing that song to her with a sparkle in my eye . . .

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