tonight was pretty perfect, but i’m glad it ended when it did. some stories are best left imagined.
i met a beautiful yet smelly french bioengineer on my flight to buffalo. Probably a match made in heaven since I don’t really believe in bathing frequently anyways.
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
I go to bed in Los Angeles thinking
Pissing a few monents ago
I looked down at my penis
Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
January 15, 1967