Graeme III (the final poem in the trilogy)

I promised the third part of the poëm trilogy on an old crush from the 1990s, named, well obviously, Graeme. Finally, I have enough energy coïnciding with sufficient cognitive clarity to be able to type a short blog-post. In later years, I saw him once more, but we did not meet. From what I can gather, he has a successful career and appears hale & hearty. 😊 

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Graeme III

my social-worker friend

he’s gay

not as inhibited as myself

tells me

I do not know

what emotional baggage you carry

my most recently-found, close friend

she’s straight

and worldly wise

you’ve encountered her

tells me

not to contact you

not to debase myself

my second most long-standing friend

he’s straight

unconstrained

for ever horny

(around women)

tells me

go for it

you never know

My most long-established friend

he’s unsure

but if pressed

will assert his heterosexuality

(he’s the most repressed person I know)

tells me

… nothing

he just humphs

and changes the subject

I would like to be friends

I would prefer us to be lovers

(full-time relationship or occasional liaison)

I would settle for an amicable affinity

- is compromise a dirty word?

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Whilst writing I have been listening to multiple versions of Olive’s “You’re Not Alone”, which invariably brings Graeme to mind. I doubt very much he even remembers our encounters, let alone knows of my existence. However, should he read this, I hope he reälises I wish him well.

Below is a link to another version of the music-video:

Graeme II: a poëm

 

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.

Thanks to all readers, I really do appreciate your stopping by.

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