One of the
Saddest sounds is
The scraping of
Utensils at the
Bottom of the
Pot or bowl
Because you know
Right then that
Whatever delectable feast
That you enjoyed
Is now nothing
More than memory
Remember you might
Recall you may
But no matter
How you try
You know that
No two pots
Of anything are
Ever really alike
So enjoy what
You can and
When you can
Until that is
There’s no more
I wonder why
You kiss others
Is it because
I’m not there
Do they look
At you like
I do straight
Into your eyes
Like I’m staring
Down a charging
Rhinoceros stopping you
In your tracks
Or do they
Look down or
Over or behind
Like they’re trying
To decide whether
To try you
On before buying
Or is it
That I’m too
Much I cherish
Too much I
Treasure too much
When sometimes you
Just want to
Be a commodity
Casually bought and
As quickly traded
For someone else
Sex is sex
Sex as verbs
Not as nouns
Casual sex or
Hookup sex seems
To be centered
Around a destination
Sometimes you get
There together and
Sometimes one of
You is delayed
But love making
Love making is
An adventure a
Journey where delays
And cancelations cause
Side trips and
Day trips and
All other kinds
Of playful exploration
To me there’s
Nothing worse than
Simply getting somewhere
When the getting
Somewhere is usually
The best part
At first I
Thought that we
We were just
Two knickknacks collected
On a whim
Just things from
Somewhere else placed
Here to remember
A bygone time
Obviously different yet
Strikingly similar we
Hold a place
One of memory
Until today when
Hands repositioned us
You over there
And me here
Closer than before
Complimenting each other
As we hold
The world between
Us as bookends
We must grow
Together and not
Apart and that
My dear boy
Is the essence
Of a relationship
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 