To Read Her Poems
To Read Her Poems
she wasn’t as alive
as she thought
she was
but none of us were
at that age
i guess
i could say
she had more life
in her
than most
freshman year was hell
it was a good hell
but it was hell
all the same
no one had any
direction
back then
so we did what we
finally could do
guzzle booze
and have time with strangers
young
wild
and unchained
we met at
an open mic
i was there supporting
a buddy
who plucked a guitar
and could drink
hemmingway
under the table
she was there
to read her poems
which led to a long night
of talking
drinking
and well,
you know the rest
she read machiavelli
wrote poetry
preferred painting to
a night downtown
i was into her
and poetry
rum
live music
we had each other
for a while
she taught me
the ways
i would carry with me
forever
and i gave her
the studious devotion
of my body
but once the steam
simmered
and the dream
slithered
from our lips
down our legs
onto the floor
We realised
We were and
We weren't who
We wanted to be
and that was
the last kiss
i ever gave
to a poet.