Poetry

Litanies Against Dying, 26 (208.)

Potentials line the shelves in my mind,
ways any situation may develop next time,
if I choose to wend that way.

A bottle of bravery, a tincture for action,
some proactive questions that bring satisfaction,
how do I brew a potion for this?

Reality features no magic liquids,
just mixtures to make one drowsy,
carousey, sometimes aroused,
too much attention or too little focus
takes all the pocus away from the hocus.

There is no fun to be had
but the fun that we make,
and sometimes I want to make love that will quake
our souls’ frames to shivers
in the hot parts of night,
kissing and sweating through gasps of delight.

Ah, me, how shall I find you?
I am one, but with another will be two,
and the tango sounds so fun.

Shall we dance?

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