My cries went in vain
between the first time that we met…
[and went insane with
Some Thing which others would call love
but for which you and I could find no name]
That meeting (and the life we shared)
was long ago when Some Thing flared –
intensity (no passion spared);
we bravely burned.
I loved your flood
then drank your blood.
We breathed each other’s breath.
We drank each other’s spit.
(We said “It’s more than until death…”)
When you were ill I cleaned your shit –
I swear to you I gladly would have eaten it
and in an eye’s blithesome blink
laid down my life for yours.
Through tragedy and tortured days
We never lost our lovers’ tryst.
We swore that in the twisted trail of time
our mouths would in the future kiss.
What patience we would have to bear
before our hands would once more
feel the softness of each other’s hair.
Our bodies then dissolved in dust
and memories shared became encrusted
by the desert sands of time.
But Some Thing never went away,
for sparks of love will not decay
across the sifting centuries of time.
For you I searched through endless days –
my golden box of love wide open and ABLAZE.
Life after life I went from place to place:
“Have you seen this girl?” But never a trace.
I slithered with wonder into my present life
and straightaway embarked upon my quest.
I went astray in many cold lost lands;
no other woman ever passed the test.
Wandering like a troubadour,
trying on clothes for size;
but none of them was shaped like you
and none of them had your eyes.
Every good thing tasted
in all my many lives
was but a dress rehearsal
for the precious time
when you and I
would be entwined
in the very moment I had lost all hope
we through the airwaves gently spoke.
A primal spark prodded us – spurring us knowingly
That we should acknowledge our history flowingly.
So now you are here!
And I look wide-eyed at the stars and moon
and all the elements of life which play that magic tune
of mystery and mellifluousness, riddle and rhyme
infusing us with awe through lifetrail tracks of time.
We are a torch of an eternal flame –
the Somethingness which others would call love
but for which you and I can find no name.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
I’m such an easypushover magnet man
that any lovelyloving girl
could wrap me round her little finger
in a whirl
and there I would stick
while she rapidly shakes her hand
to get me to uncurl.
They know the game
and who can blame them?
It’s called Natural Selection
Survival of the Fittest
(There is no protection).
We are all simply following
blind instinct calls;
jungle activity even enthrals
unhairy apes (but inside their walls).
Hanging from a height –
your rope a way of keeping me at bay,
rather than a noose
(although it might as well be one!) –
I drop right out of sight
[although I think that I was never
In your sights
for anything more than fantasy,
Some token of exigency,
a convenience food
with which to ease
your pristine nights]
with you in your bed,
me in mine,
while you commit
your champagne crimes.