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< and at this hour of our perfect honesty >
 
  O Leanne, my muse, please aid me now!
 
 
  me sitting 
  you insisting 
  what i said 
  now dead

  picture in us
  glued
  back
  constructed of us 
  rued
  stacked

  packed with all that old us there
  us captured in our stuttering consonantal
  all of us in all our gruntal cuntal puntal duntal

  chirping chipping chomping 
  monkey-faced 
  prefrontal
 
  me aping you 
  you aping uncle
  us so primal 
  us posthuntal 
  yes it's us
  now horizuntal
 
  clocked 
  crocked 
  shocked
  prefrontal

  tiger learning night-paced
  jumble of our sights-raced
  here we are in full-faced

  "we're wed"

  "we're dead"  (it's what you said)

  that picture of us
  glued back
  our picture perfects false fact 
  racked sacked jacked hacked backed lacked 

  tacked
  nailed
  walled 
  flat
  
  pancakes mornings syrups

  "we're wed"

  that old us there 
  that old us at this hour of our perfect honesty  

  where
 
  us vacuum empties night-laced
  us neatly glued-up back waste
  us here again on slant-paced

  faced 
  to 
  faced 

  disgraced

  erased

           - - -



Inspired by Leanne's beautiful (if humbly named) "Metamorphoses".


Adding additional tragic love poems* would please me no end.
And, really, any other comment you'd like to make would be most welcome.

P.S. Since it's gotten springish, i(I) think it only proper to load up
our deeply broken-hearted guns of love.

*even tragic love haiku, but NO, repeat NO, tragic love tanka!
.
.
The idea -- to have fun-sum-cum
(hum-bum, bun-drum)
with words that rhyme-grime
(slime-time, brine-dime)
at the complete expense-tense
of making any sense-prints
(dense pretense).
As it does naught-halt for me-he,
I guess I'll fleeeeeeeee
(bee-flea, cee-sea).

Dale-hail
I am delighted, Ray, delighted I say Big Grin... "posthuntal" indeed!

in your spring
my flowers fade, leaves
give up their branches
and summer climbs into its
record of the year that was

how many miles does it take
to change a season?

I am summer in your
photographs, you
are frozen in mine

why smile when we
will be here for only
an instant?

< instantly >

instantly
we touch
first
on the fine horizon
and then
on our hollow bodies
a fine resonance
i play on yours
not suspecting it's mine
we
play together
you on me
me on you
waves
one after the other
first you
then me
instantly

- - -