Half-life of Passion

 
I have not been touching other people’s mouths,
but I admit to carrying them
in  my pockets
and I can feel them moving.

I’ve always wanted passion,
wanted to be eaten
the way ants leave clean a pile of bones,
or like the way the poor Zen monk
devoured his lover
and was compelled to keep eating.

I understand how he had no choice,
how it’s the perception of loss
that makes passion possible.
How quickly, though, he found out
about irreparable damage,
the communion of that body
feeding itself, keeping the hunger going.

This is how I’ll squander my time:
thinking about what I can’t have,
not in this lifetime, not in the next,
keeping that taste in my mouth.


                                from Phoebe

 

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teresita alicea | Reply 12.12.2013 14.54

Unbelievably moving and so universal, we are all mutants in this half-life of passion, all interred in this live cemetery. Now this is a poet...

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16.07 | 18:46

Woweezowee, Missy, Congratulations on your new book!!!
This is a great web page where I can finally access all your writings!

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24.01 | 19:56

Missy,
I have been reading your poems occasionally because I am not used to poetry and need practice. I LOVE this poem.
xoxx Leslie

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28.12 | 13:58

Missy-Marie, first, my best wishes & many blessings for the new year 2015, soon to be! Second, congratulations for all your beautiful master pieces creations.

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11.08 | 21:04

Still chuckling as I write this. Wonderful nugget of family life.

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