His lips felt different
His eyes remained dead
Hands reaching fumbling hurried
As though he didn’t
Know how didn’t care
Only wanted like I
Was junk mail to
Be sorted and tossed
So different from you
That when you did
Touch me I was
Cartier something to behold
To treasure to keep
To display to smile
Upon when no one
Else was even looking
What is it about
Bliss which drives bad
Decisions what is it
About promises which drives
Hope what is it
About need which kneads
Flesh what it about
Loneliness which drives strangers
To become wantonly close
For a few hours
Only to be back
In the same place
Sitting here and watching
Steam rise and disappear
From my coffee thinking
Where does it go
What causes it is
It part of one
Thing only to become
Something else briefly tickling
And then poof gone
Just like you whomever
You are were promised
To be last night
Now nothing more than
Yet another door closing
Behind you in silence
It’s hard to admit
That you are old
Done chasing and ready
To sit and remember
The first things to
Float are those hoped
Forgotten that sting bite
And buzz about obnoxiously
Next the lily pads
Tethered to something deeper
But seeing their beauty
As they open up
And finally clear water
Which is nothing actually
Actually it is nothing
Which are my fondest
Peaceful memories of all
As a poet I
Often wonder as I
Wander about my business
If I like dinosaurs
Know or ever knew
That I or mine
Will one day be
Extinct that one day
And maybe this day
We will no longer
Write or roam leaving
Others to wander wondering
Where’d they all go
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 