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literature
Pretty Much for Maria Poem
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Literature Text
You see Maria,
you weren't forgotten,
how you mused drunk drivers
confused, stoned, blurred,
no point in focusing, for you
saw clarity in foggy windows.
It's weird, because you probably
don't remember it, but that time
when I kissed your ear while whispering
to you. You see, I thought I was kissing
you while your ears looked like your tongue.
At least that's what it looked like to me.
So I thought I was kissing you to death
but you said I was just standing there on the
couch, pretending that I was sitting and listening
to your stories; how in your whore attentioned
glories you pretty much knew it was a drive
thru a desert to your West Texas Avenue
I don't recall ever being so wasted in a set
extreme of words. You mused my lost oblivion
Ironed away my muttered forgotten times and memories.
You told me it wasn't important. Even made laugh
by acting like you really were turned on by me.
You pretty much knew you were a sunset garden,
your red smirk (but you'd say it was a skirt)
and red lips; with your cherry voice,
and sudden soft sarcastic statements in whisper
as to purr like a cat was what you were trying to say.
You tricked me into hearing something you didn't tell me.
You really were something.
And you are really still here.
Yeah.
You always were here.
you weren't forgotten,
how you mused drunk drivers
confused, stoned, blurred,
no point in focusing, for you
saw clarity in foggy windows.
It's weird, because you probably
don't remember it, but that time
when I kissed your ear while whispering
to you. You see, I thought I was kissing
you while your ears looked like your tongue.
At least that's what it looked like to me.
So I thought I was kissing you to death
but you said I was just standing there on the
couch, pretending that I was sitting and listening
to your stories; how in your whore attentioned
glories you pretty much knew it was a drive
thru a desert to your West Texas Avenue
I don't recall ever being so wasted in a set
extreme of words. You mused my lost oblivion
Ironed away my muttered forgotten times and memories.
You told me it wasn't important. Even made laugh
by acting like you really were turned on by me.
You pretty much knew you were a sunset garden,
your red smirk (but you'd say it was a skirt)
and red lips; with your cherry voice,
and sudden soft sarcastic statements in whisper
as to purr like a cat was what you were trying to say.
You tricked me into hearing something you didn't tell me.
You really were something.
And you are really still here.
Yeah.
You always were here.
This poem is dedicated to Maria: You don't know who you are.
© 2005 - 2024 delliversagain
Comments32
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in 16 I meant whore unfortunately. Maria's a writer. A friend. Her stories are intensely exhibitionist so "whore attentioned glories" is an odd (even obnoxious) compliment to her guts in being so open in her writings. She's a friend to me, so the obnoxious compliment was the writer me thinking that she'd prefer a strong sarcasm and relate to the fact that the annoyance of the mark was meant as a sort of loving gesture.
The drunk me that was pretty clever at least. But the sober me unfortunately realizes the obtuse cryptic-ness or even incoherence of the message.
It's a silly poem that I like very much for some silly reason. I guess I like it because I can feel how I felt when I wrote it: blurred, smashed, incoherent, drunk, dead, spinning dying. This poem captured that moment for me.
There was an error in that other poem you critiqued. The poem you commented on where the intro reminded you of Bright Eyes.
I omitted a word. Darn I forgot where it was
.
Anyways, I like your comments which have a sort of off-balance groove to them. When I get back, if I make it back, from the east coast next week, I'll be in touch and will spend time with your writings.
thanks.
The drunk me that was pretty clever at least. But the sober me unfortunately realizes the obtuse cryptic-ness or even incoherence of the message.
It's a silly poem that I like very much for some silly reason. I guess I like it because I can feel how I felt when I wrote it: blurred, smashed, incoherent, drunk, dead, spinning dying. This poem captured that moment for me.
There was an error in that other poem you critiqued. The poem you commented on where the intro reminded you of Bright Eyes.
I omitted a word. Darn I forgot where it was
. Anyways, I like your comments which have a sort of off-balance groove to them. When I get back, if I make it back, from the east coast next week, I'll be in touch and will spend time with your writings.
thanks.