After too many years
losing myself
in others,
I realised
I was the problem
in my world, or
one of them
at least,
though the solution
still remains obscure,
or if not obscure,
beyond my lonely reach.
Mouth
Long before I pictured
kissing you, I imagined
what it would be like
to go down on you,
taste your wet sex
on my tongue
as I drank as deeply
as human bodies can allow
before drowning.
Time gave your mouth
to me first, the rest of
your body
following eventually,
the lips between your
legs
coming last,
first to my fingers,
then to my mouth;
we never went any further
than that, but there was
no further
I wanted to go,
your taste shining
on my mouth
the heaven
I knew it would be,
the distant memory
of it now
still enough
to tighten my skin
and water my mouth.
A Life Of Few
The public-money-built
house of hand-jobs
and blow jobs
has the highest rent
of any building
in the city.
The queues for rooms
are longer
than the country
is wide, death the only
thing
that makes them
available.
I have stood
in a queue for a time,
as have you. Despite
our riotous words
and shaking anger
we want to be able
to look at the world
through the windows
coloured with pleasures
and privileges.
The queues continue to
grow
as the rents continue to
rise,
a better life somehow
possible
even as life becomes unliveable.
Waxworks
Do you remember that
tunnel
in the old waxworks
we crawled though,
stopping halfway through
to kiss, and touch,
our hearts hammering
with desire
and the possibility
of being discovered,
before continuing on,
faces red and bodies
eager,
to look at the rest of
the wax statues
that looked nothing like
whoever they were meant
to look like, strangers
to us
and to themselves?
I remember, of course,
though there is little
I do not remember
of our time together,
our one year, six months
and thirteen days still
existing
inside my heart
and nowhere else,
the memory of us
a stranger to you now.
I See You
I watch as my shadow
pulls away from me
and the sky becomes
my world, the clouds the
ground
my feet can barely touch.
Eventually I reclaim
my equilibrium
and risk another look
at you, the spin
beginning
again, the dizzying
like a flutter in my chest.
Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have
been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The
Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen, The Blue Nib and Poetry Wales. His
play ‘Wall’ was part of Druid Theatre’s Druid Debuts 2020. His debut poetry
collection "Playing Poohsticks On Ha'Penny Bridge" was published in
2010. He is currently working towards a second collection.
He also makes
musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Orson Carroll, Lego Figures
Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.
His blog/website
can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com
No comments:
Post a Comment