The Poetry Marathon

forty-six moments to a lifetime,

you and I remained while the sun shined curtains of gold,

as your green eyes foretold me stories about our lingering hands and famished mouths,

within arms reach, a mere three feet

Your petal unfurls wide,

Glistening silky pink lips,

Swelling, dripping, begging me

In the tender light of flames, where our desires lie, unfolding,

madly we burn,

inhibitions gone,

where the shadows on the walls dance a lustful ballet,

to the growling whispers,

with a firm hand on a bare throat, vibrating, primal,

teeth on bare flesh, surrendering to your touch,

at 3am

where time slows in this world of shadows and hushed aches

Our kisses whisper, like lilies in moonlight

Our lips, a rhythmic dance, symphonies escaping parted mouths

Bathing us from above with the luminous silver rays

The stars our secrets they keep

Soft sunday morning

Tasting her coffee kisses

Lost in paradise

Sun beating down

Kissing snow skin red

Where the water meets the sky

Blending together

Small waves

Lapping

Licking

Cool Water

Inhaling fresh

And

Breathing more freely

 

It’s been one hell of an interesting night

sleepless night

laughed filled night

watching the stars fill the sky

the moon rising high, weaving between the clouds

The night turned into dawn

You know, it’s true, what they say,

its darkest before dawn

but only those who have stayed awake

and watched day turn into night

could attest these truths

Only the mad, Poets, artists and drunks

stay awake this long for their art

what I mess I’ll say

after I read through the disasters ive written

words tosses, strewn about

haphazardly thrown on to the page

what a mess I’ll think

but for now, I’ll write this last poem

and smile

thinking of the past 24 hours

Shutting down

slowly

as the sun also rises

like Hemingway wrote

old man, I wonder

if he stayed awake for 24 hours

driving himself mad on

sleep deprivation and prose

Which is what I’m running on

almost empty

on hour 23

The last cigarettes are smoked

Sleep deprived

Hungover and dangerous

But in spite of everything

I am creating art

To be read, probably ignored

but I’m writing it

at 6:34 in the morning

I am creating art

Telling stories

of the adventures I had

years ago

reminded me of the years

i have behind me

And I remind myself

of how many years I have ahead of me

and those good times only seem like a small collection

of what is yet to come