If, Someday
By Sharon Olds
If, someday, we had to look back
and tell the best hours of our lives,
this was one -- moving my brow
and nose around, softly, in your armpit,
as if you were running a furred palm
over my face. The skin of my body
touching your body felt actively joyful,
sated yet sipping and eating. As you fell
asleep, your penis slowly caressed me,
as if you were licking me goodbye, and I lay
slack, weightless, my body floated
on fathomless happiness. When someone
knocked on the door, you didn't wake up,
and I didn't wake you, and when they knocked again
I did not rouse you, I felt sure that nothing
was wrong -- it was just a someone, calling,
outside heaven, and the noise of the outsideness laid a
seal on our insideness. There was just this bed,
just these two, and, passing this way
and that, from angle to angle of the room --
wall, ceiling, floor, bedpost -- the
curved sound-waves of their recent cries,
by now a billion, bright webs,
look back and see this.
I still do not have The Unswept Room worked through my system so you all get more sexy, sad Sharon Olds, even though I did not really have time to transcribe this. In fact I have not really had time to write any of the things I have written in the past two days. Why is it that when I have NO TIME, I have a million things that I absolutely must write down or die, whereas when I do have time, I find ways to put off writing anything at all?
Am hoping to meet
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