Excerpts from The Hunger

"The Hunger is about the longing for love and the search for a relationship that is more than a simple liaison. Over the years I kind of fell into short term affairs which were mostly of a physical nature.  I like to think that I have a gift for bringing love to my bedmates, but there is an inherent limitation to such relationships.  Like Chinese food, an hour later you want more!  I guess after a while I resigned myself to being the late night phone call recipient.  I know it sounds like BS but I’ve paid the dues to sing these blues.  The “urge to merge” has been both my salvation and my curse.  Perhaps the following poems will provide a cautionary tale for anyone contemplating a free-range existence."

 

All the Romantic Places in the World

 

Being part of a secret

Is a guilty pleasure

That in the beginning

Is deliciously sweet

And in the end

Is as bitter a pill to swallow

As was ever prescribed

If you’re good

You get to come back

If you’re not good enough

It’s just one of those things

But after the blush

Wears off

After you’ve gotten

A few affairs under your belt

You begin to long for

What you cannot have

And when you realize

That you cannot have what

True lovers have

A sadness overtakes you

Which almost certainly

Guarantees that you will

Always be in the shadows

Giving solace and

Receiving it in kind

Behind closed doors

Whilst true lovers

Laugh and kiss and

Touch each other in all

The romantic places

In the world

 

 

CHOPIN

 

What I remember most

Is this feeling of

Holiday

Knowing that

It would end

And the drudgery

Of the world would

Soon return

 

So I savored the

Moments as best I could

Knowing that I was

Somewhat handicapped

By my lack of sophistication

In certain realms

 

We labored

Loved and

Lived within the walls

Of our respective hearts

Citadels really and

I do miss you

 

Miss your playing the piano most

So delicate and alive

A common thing for you

For me

The sweetest pleasure

Like a ray of light in the murkiest catacomb or

A soft hand caressing my grizzled cheek

My God

It was a sound that touched me

The clod

As deeply as possible

Making me want to climb

Mountains in your name

To worship you by

Loving you in the sweetest way

To lay at your feet

The sum total of my wealth

 

Your laughter

Your kisses

Chopin

This is what I miss

 

 

Occasional Lover

 

Afterwards

taking in the room

I stop at the shrine of pictures

on your bureau:

family, the family dog

the soon-to-be-ex-husband

But no sign that I was ever here

no trace of my impact on you

except an unmade bed and

you coming out of the bathroom

looking flummoxed and happy.

 

I want my legacy to be more

than a sly smile that fades

over coffee and toast

More than walls that echo with the

passions of the desperate and lonely

More than a brief memory painted

on the breath of night evaporating

like the dew at sunrise.

 

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