My poëms tend to be my least-read blog-posts; nevertheless poëtry is important to me. As I promised here is part two of the trilogy about my encounter and non-affinity with a chap named Graeme back in the 1990s in a large pub in Didsbury.
The other guy referenced - poor lad! - is called Nick, about whom I also wrote a few poëms. Perhaps I might one day publish one or two of those…
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Graeme II
God
I felt so horny
in the taxi
I could hardly wait
for the journey
to end.
Does he fancy,
does he want to sleep with
to have sex with
me?
Dropped off at the rendezvous
I scoured the imbibing revellers
enjoying desperately
the last of Summer’s warm evenings.
Deflated at not seeing him
contemplating a rejection
stood up again.
I turned from the crowd
stepped into the bar
and as I did so
he
was there
behind me
tapping my shoulder
beaming broadly,
“What would you like to…”
“Buy you a drink…”
We laughed together
simultaneously
I asserted the primacy
of my offer;
he demurred
though parried
with a request for a Czech beer
or was it Slovakian
at any rate
unpronounceable
to the uninitiated.
He excused himself
itching desperation
the sponge needed squeezing.
For some moments
I was left to fend for myself
and then
I spotted you there
or maybe not
I convinced myself
an hallucination
merely a fantasy
and I dismissed you from my mind.
Relief
he returned
suggested
we sit outside
with the bright young things.
Surprisingly
there was an empty
trestle just for two;
Fate was looking kindly
upon him and me
or so I thought.
We had chatted
for some time
trying to find
that common-ground
the foundation
to any new affinity,
when perchance
I glanced
up at you
about to descend
from the bar
like some angel
on Jacob’s ladder,
in a plain, white T-shirt
white jeans
and those sapphirine orbs
coruscating,
standing erect
so tall
much more than I recall.
Distracted totally
by your presence.
I noted your male companion
lover or simple friend
either way
I envied his position
for you sat
straddling the bench
perpendicular to his side -
were you declaring
ownership?
Jealousy stabbed
and twisted
in my heart,
I actually felt
physical pain
(like fear or excitement
in one’s stomach).
I tried
to turn my attention
back to him,
and for a while
it worked,
until
my poriferan organ
required emptying.
As I walked down
to the convenience
in the basement
you appeared
at the bottom,
you looked up
we caught one another’s gaze;
I continued
my descent
and you took the stairs
three at a time;
I turned my head
to watch your strong thighs
your calves and agile feet
the gently curving
muscular
twinned arcs
either side of your spine,
like angelic wings,
and from such an angle
your comely
shapely
behind;
I observed you
almost to the top
of the stairwell
then averted my eyes,
for the same reason
why I did not
call out your name,
at least not aloud,
for my ridiculous sense of decorum
just would not allow it,
too phlegmatic
for my own good.
On returning
I had lost
the desire
and the lust
for him.
My unrequited passion
for you
rekindled
irritatingly
and inconveniently.
I almost feel certain
that you and I…
…oh I don’t know
what does one call it
two strangers
who seemed to know one another
somehow felt comfortable
together,
is that love
or simply
the effect
of some designer-drug?
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Yesterday was this blog’s twelfth anniversary. I am not well enough to carry out a blog analysis of the past twelve years. However, at just shy of 840K blog-views, some folk must have found my witterings of some interest.
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