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Click hereI once read my poetry
In a old church basement
Every Thursday night
Poetic Collage,
Across the whole spectrum
Of age, race and gender
I'd read a poem aloud
With my heart in my hand,
I was oh-so young then
Unsure of my work
You usually commented
You liked what your heard,
Offered slight suggestions
Always a positive light
I'd often dream about you
Later that night,
One Thursday evening
After the group was done
We walked out together
Into the rainy night,
You asked if I was busy
I said nothing much
We walked to your apartment
A dozen blocks away,
You made cups of tea
Dripped in molten honey
Twenty years my senior
You thought I was funny,
Said you liked my poems
I said I liked yours too
And then you asked
What I'd like to do,
So we set there reading
Poems into the night
The glow of a dozen candles
A sensual delight,
And then we make love
I was timid, you were sweet
And for the rest of the winter
Every Thursday we would meet,
The poem begins as prose then as it progresses becomes poetry, reflecting the progress of the narrator's affair with the tutor.
Very clever.
although my feeling is somewhere between the two comments below. A5
I read this and reread this and still feel like I missed the boat. I understand that the simplicity of it reflects the tender nature of the subject, but I wish this didn't fit so nicely in the box.