A Poem About the Art I Dream of in This Life, After All
to love,
and be loved
as in Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville
or to find the hand keeping my chest warm,
not because there is no other way,
but because there is no better way.
avec adieu, la poeme:
A Second Introduction
for H
Watching her walk slowly into the bar
gently lifting her dress strap back
onto her sloping shoulder , her lips opened
to whisper a hello, while I finished
serving a few customers. She sat
near the other end of the bar and I brought
her a glass before flicking off the neon signs.
I leaned over she leaned forward
for a kiss and somehow it brought
back evenings dancing around the steam
Of cooking pasta and the glow of red
wine through the kitchen
to the living room
to the bedroom
and we’d wake to the soft yellow light
of the rising sun.
Tonight was different.
We smiled
Despite a few years of pain, not knowing
each other and suddenly we are back, dancing,
wine in hand, the internal
rhythm of our love playing,
first note sounded with her dress strap
sliding off her shoulder.
and be loved
as in Le Baiser de l'Hotel de Ville
or to find the hand keeping my chest warm,
not because there is no other way,
but because there is no better way.
avec adieu, la poeme:
A Second Introduction
for H
Watching her walk slowly into the bar
gently lifting her dress strap back
onto her sloping shoulder , her lips opened
to whisper a hello, while I finished
serving a few customers. She sat
near the other end of the bar and I brought
her a glass before flicking off the neon signs.
I leaned over she leaned forward
for a kiss and somehow it brought
back evenings dancing around the steam
Of cooking pasta and the glow of red
wine through the kitchen
to the living room
to the bedroom
and we’d wake to the soft yellow light
of the rising sun.
Tonight was different.
We smiled
Despite a few years of pain, not knowing
each other and suddenly we are back, dancing,
wine in hand, the internal
rhythm of our love playing,
first note sounded with her dress strap
sliding off her shoulder.
posted by Matt at 8:40 PM | Permalink
1 Comments:
aww matt... the title of this post and the intro makes me smile. :) i think of both of those poems of yours, definite all-time favorites. just love it. and you know, the calendar i made myself and karen is turned to the doisneau page right now, featuring that very photograph and copies of both your doisneau poem and mine. :)
onto the poem at hand... lovely as usual my friend.
the high points:
-the repeated image of the dress strap, so well timed.
-the repetition of "brought" at the ends of lines 6 and 9.
-the line break between red and wine.
the questions:
-why is "Of" in caps on line 11?
-the line break fanatic in me wants to see more play with the list kitchen, living room, bedroom so it isn't all as clean cut.
-and again, my line break brain wants the the word "first" toward the end of the poem to move up a line, so it reads:
"rhythm of our love playing, first
note sounded with her dress strap
sliding off her shoulder."
it makes an interesting play on first love/first note
just lovely matt, really. so glad i still get to read your poetry.
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