Loading...

Woman

this head like a saucer
decorated with everything
as lip to lip we hang
in mechanical joy;
my hands blaze with arias
but i think of books
on anatomy,
and i fall from you
as nations burn in anger…
 
to recover from most pitiful error
and rebuild, this is it
loss and mending
until they take us in.
 
the glory of a saturday afternoon
like biting into an old peach
and you walk across the room
heavy with everything
except my love.
Liked or faved by...
Other works by Charles Bukowski ...



Top