I do remember
Of course I
remember I remember
fondly but not
longingly time has
severed that connection
like a prisoner
pulling his chain
free from post
sending him somewhere
anywhere else but
there where misery
pain and suffering
occurred once love
had souringly curdled
I have rinsed
my mouth of
you and wiped
my lips clean
but yes I
do remember of
course I remember
I never lost
the taste of
you but I
doubt that I
will enjoy you
ever again ever
Category: Cookie
LayWithMe
Lay with me
Let me paint
You with words
Let me strum
Your hair like
A harp let
Me tap your
Tummy like a
Tympani let my
Fingers dip in
Loves water colors
And draw circles
Across your brow
Down the cliffs
Of your cheekbones
And pool in
The hollows of
Your throat lay
With me and
Let me look
Into your eyes
And see stars
So far away
Yet close enough
To touch stay
Lay with me
Delay with me
Let this night
Last into the
Day with me
Poppycock
You were excellent
At placing commas
Like as you
Said they were
Pauses from you
To me kisses
And winks and
Deliberate deliberating sighs
Teasing rather I
Think knowing that
Soon and for
Certain will come
That damned period
Ending all this
Taunting rambling poppycock
BumpityBumpBump
It’s being thrown
From the horse
That makes horseback
Riding so thrilling
It’s not trotting
Cantering even galloping
That enchants me
But that sudden
Stark stop when
You’re abruptly airborne
Flailing and uncertain
Where you’ll land
But certain that
You will and
After the bouncity
Bounce bounce you
Then reflect saying
Now that was
One helluva ride
Same with lovers
And with breakups
Oh how I
Do enjoy lovers
But I love
Even more that
Woozy breakup and
Bumpity bump bump
OldTiredWood (the end of Cookie)
And after I
Had gathered the
Wood that we
Are and carefully
Built a teepee
Of timber kindly
Added kindling preparing
For our blaze
You handed me
A box of
Wet matches the
One thing the
Only thing that
I asked you
To bring you
Brought something that
I couldn’t use
So there we
Sat there staring
At what we
Could have been
Knowing that we’ll
Never be that
But rather just
A pile of
Old tired wood
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 